


Optical Illusions

by Winterstar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Blindness, Car Accidents, Denial, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Driving, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Mutual Pining, Peggy Carter died prior to story, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, TBI, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: Army Veteran and freelance comic book artist, Steve Rogers is ill prepared to apply for a job as a Personal Assistant to the dashing but elusive billionaire Tony Stark. He’s strapped for cash though, and he needs a break. His friends urge him to apply and Steve somehow ends up with the position. When he signs a non-disclosure agreement (NDA), Steve learns a lot more about the ever-mysterious Tony Stark, the inventor of the modern-day era of clean energy, artificial intelligence and other smart technologies. Tony Stark is a futurist to be sure, but there’s something he’s hiding from his past. Once Steve signs the NDA, he learns the secret and must adapt to it, giving up preconceived notions and slowly falling in love with his boss along the way. Tony wrestles to accept himself and needs someone to accept him – exactly the way he is. Steve hopes he just be that person.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 175
Kudos: 556
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit being paired with ironycap has been fabulous! What a wonderful partner!! I've been so thrilled with all the wonderful pieces ironycap put together. It's been a joy and an honor to have my work come to life with her skills!! What a glorious partnership!! Thank you so much.
> 
> Some spoilery artwork (which will be embedded soon)  
> To see the artwork and gif!- go [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548302)
> 
> Thanks to the mods as well - it's always a thrill to participate in such a well organized and well run event!
> 
> A few notes about the story - this is a story about blindness and the challenges. I hope I represented both the visually impaired and unimpaired correctly. I have tagged this story with ableism because at time some of the sighted people are not very understanding or may be a little narrowminded in their views.

_In our ten part exposé of Stark Industries, we will investigate the history of the Stark family, learn who Howard Stark really was, and discover how his son, Tony Stark, turned the company from one that thrived as a war machine to one that builds your future through advances in innovative technologies that seem like more science fiction than reality. Our series will focus on the ever-elusive Tony Stark. Who is he? Nearly a decade ago, the then 17-year-old Tony Stark was in a car accident that took his parents’ lives. Tony Stark sustained injuries from which he recovered. Or did he? Here at ‘In Focus’ we’ll find out who Tony Stark is. Our future is dependent on Stark Industries, it’s about time we know who Tony Stark, the playboy billionaire, philanthropist, and genius really is. I’m Christine Everhart – we’re streaming this Fall._

CHAPTER 1

“You’re different.” Tony leans his head back, staring through the lenses of his glasses at the specimen before him. It’s supposed to be an interview – one of great importance and he should probably take it more seriously – but the fact remains that a god just walked through the door, and while the gods allow Tony Stark plans on relishing and coveting such beauty.

The Adonis before him looks down at his collared Polo-rip-off shirt that’s probably two sizes too small for him, and then back up at Tony. He frowns and says, “Different?” He’s clutching a leather-bound portfolio that probably came from the thrift store down the block of wherever this Adonis lives. His khakis are nicely pressed, but the shirt is definitely a fake that he probably bought from a sidewalk vendor. 

Tony swings his highly expensive leather shoes down from his pristine (no papers, no computers, nothing on top) glass desk. He pushes the leather chair to the side and pops the lollipop out of his mouth. He uses it to point at the man. Some say that sucking on a lollipop helps replace the need for a drink in his hand. He begs to differ. “Come to an interview at a very high-profile business dressed like you just got out of the movies. Were you on a date?”

Adonis scans the area as if he’s looking for mentioned date, furrows his brows, and then purses his lips. He’s pretty. Too pretty for Tony. He doesn’t want this kind of beauty around him. Not now. Not anymore. He snaps at the man. “Don’t you own a suit?”

“Not one that’s not a uniform, sir. Sorry.” He thumbs it behind him. “I’ll just let myself out.”

Of course, Tony can’t have that. He won’t allow the guy to just walk out, not when it isn’t his choice. “Wait. Wait. Come sit down. You don’t know how to fight for yourself, do you?”

The guy stops and twists his mouth as if he’s considering a smart remark to answer. The pause must help him reassess the situation, and he walks the few steps to the chairs in front of Tony’s desk. He sits down. “I have my resume, sir.” He lifts the beaten portfolio for Tony to see. 

Tony doesn’t need the portfolio. He already knows everything about the man in front of him. College graduate – small upstate art college. Recruited to the army at the rank of Captain. Four tours abroad, two in a war zone. His fiancé died in that same war zone. Hadn’t dated since. His best friend permanently injured in the war zone. Said best friend moved on and married Adonis’ other best friend last year. They moved to Washington D.C. to run a Veteran’s Advocacy and Rehabilitation Center. Adonis lives on the third story of a walk up in Brooklyn. He doesn’t have many friends, hangs out at the local gym. Used to have a job at a major comic book company before it went out of business. Currently he’s working as a freelance comic book artist and he’s barely scraping by. The last is one of the reasons Pepper flagged his file.

He’s desperate for a job. Any job. 

Tony crosses his arms as he studies the man. He told Pepper specifically no beauties, no handsome dudes. He wanted plain, homely, even ugly. That would work. Not this creation of the gods.

“Put the portfolio on the desk,” Tony says. He has no intention of actually looking at it. But once the candidate places his portfolio on the desk, Tony takes it and opens it. He doesn’t really focus on it at all. “Tell me about yourself.” He pauses. “Steve.” That’s his name. That’s what Pepper told him anyway. Pepper promised him not to mix up names again. It really is embarrassing when he calls candidates by the wrong name.

Steve clears his throat and rubs his hands on his khakis. “Steve Rogers. Captain in the US Army. Four tours abroad -.”

Tony puts up his hand. “Tell me something not on the resume.”

Steve bites at his lips, inhales, exhales and says, “I can’t play the saxophone.”

Tony barks out a laugh and then covers his mouth. “Why the hell do I care about that?”

“The ad for the position said must be musically inclined. Sax a plus.” Steve points to the portfolio pocket. 

Tony slides it out of the broken pocket and opens the printed ad. From the quality of the print, Tony figures an older printer – dot matrix - and a crappy ink cartridge. “It says mathematically inclined and Stats a plus.” He shoves the paper over to Steve.

“Oh,” Steve says and looks at the ad. “My printer sucks.” His mumbles the last and then with hands that are none to steady folds up the paper. “Sorry.” Tony reads the red blush of heat to his face. “Sorry, I really should get out of your hair then. I’m not mathematically inclined at all and I didn’t take stats at all in college.”

As he reaches for his case, Tony grabs it and stops him. “Sit down.” Steve eases back into the chair. “Let’s see what else we have here.” He flicks his fingers to indicate he wants to look at the ad Steve printed. Steve pushes it across the desk. Tony opens the folded paper. No wonder Steve thought he was coming to an interview where music was a definitive part of the job. “Why’d you come to an interview that you thought musically inclined would be important to the job when you don’t have that skillset anyway?”

Steve shrugs. “I need a job. My friend Natasha Romanoff used to work here. She said you needed what she called a Personal Assistant.”

“Ah, Natasha,” Tony says. He knew that Pepper plucked this guy off the street for a reason. Natasha and Pepper were thick as thieves sometimes. “So, you want to use Natasha as your reference?” Tony flips through the papers and sees that in fact, Steve has not listed her as a reference. He has a Colonel, a doctor, and his friend Sam Wilson. “Did you work for any of these people other than the Colonel?”

“No. Doctor Erskine has known me since I was a kid. Sam and I were in the same unit in the Army,” Steve says and clasps his hands together. He’s squeezing them repeatedly. 

“Strange choice.”

“You asked for a Personal Assistant that knows the saxophone-.” He stops because that’s still obviously wrong. “Like I said I can get out of your hair.”

“Stay.” Tony uses his most authoritative tone. “I want a Personal Assistant that is more than a simple gal Friday. Do you know what that is?”

Steve nods. 

“I want someone who can help me with my designs and that’s why I asked for a mathematically inclined PA. You don’t fill that need, but you do have art in your background. Did you take technical drawing courses? Computer design?” Tony rattles off as many as he can think of in a short time.

“Yes. My transcripts are right in the second pocket of the portfolio.” He reaches to the binder and tugs at the paper for Tony. “I also have a thumb drive-.”

Tony shakes his head. “Filled with viruses to hack into my company’s computer intranet. No thank you.” 

Flipping the thumb drive over in his hand, Steve stares at it like it might turn into a viper and bite him. “Hmm. I. Really?”

“Really. The Department of Defense doesn’t even allow them.” Tony doesn’t look at the transcripts. He leans in his chair and the wide back creaks. “Tell me about these classes you took.”

“Mainly technical drawing. We did projects for drafting communication devices like phones and computers, but also more advanced engineering projects. I did one on solar panels and on a Bugatti. We used a lot of computer graphics in that class. So, it really led nicely into the digital art classes I took.” Steve falls silent as Tony gazes at him. 

“But still you went into more classic drawing. Studio and comic book?” Tony asks. He already knows. He’s done his homework – well, Pepper’s done the homework for him and he’s a fast learner. 

Well, these days you have to know both styles. Hand drawn and digital. I worked for an independent comic book company until they went out of business. But I do freelance a bit.”

“Who’s your favorite?” Tony asks and tosses the lollipop into the glass of water on his desk. He used to do that as a kid. Had a bunch of lollipops in different solutions of water with the hope that one of them would eventually dissolve the lollipop and he would have a sugary drink. Didn’t work. Except for the one that he didn’t use water, but then again, the glass melted too.

“Favorite?” 

“Hero, comic book hero?”

Steve lifts his shoulder. “I don’t really know. I’m partial to Daredevil right now, I suppose because I did some of the variant covers that are offered in the current run.” Steve indicates the resume again, and then clasps his hands in his lap. It’s becoming obvious to Steve that he’s not really interested in study his resume, so Tony needs to address that little fact.

“I asked you here on an interview to learn more than what’s on the resume, Mister Rogers.”

“Steve, please call me Steve. Mister Rogers is my dad.”

“You and your dad close?” Tony put that out there to kind of break away at the ice. They hadn’t hit it off, not yet.

“No. I mean yes, I would hope we would have been, but he died when I was about a year old or so. He was in the Army, died in action,” Steve says, and his words are swallowed up by the enormity of the facts he just shared. 

Part of Tony envies Steve’s solemn respect for his father. He should feel the same way about his own, considering dear old dad is dead too. But Tony can’t. His father drove drunk resulting in his death and the death of Tony’s mother . Tony can’t ever forgive him for that little factoid. “I’m sorry to hear that. But you joined the Army to respect him, I think.”

“Yeah, a little. Well, a lot. It was a great experience. I got to see a lot of the world.” Steve smiles for the first time, a real smile not the professionally pasted on one he walked through the door with. 

“You liked the travel, that’s good. This position might involve some travel. Do you think you could handle that – your family okay with you traveling?” Tony waits, reading the way Steve moves in his seat, the sweat on his brow.

“I have no problem traveling. I’m not married and don’t have any kids. So, I’m free. Exactly what does the position entail?” He perks up a little, sitting forward in the chair.

“Like I said, I need someone to help with technical schematics. I need someone who is a fast study and willing to work through the night. I am on a tight schedule. I only have a few months to get the project completed. I may need to travel some, in order to consult with experts in the field.” Tony stands up, keeping his hand on the desk as he rounds it and then sits on the edge of it. “I need someone quick on their feet, willing to be a personal assistant, a technical drafter, a researcher, and a little bit of a bodyguard when I need to travel.”

“Sounds right up my alley.” He goes to reference the resume again but then leaves it. He turns to Tony and directly speaks to him. “Mister Stark, I’m qualified for the position. I was a Captain in the Army. I know how to follow orders and to give them. I also know how to get things done. If I don’t know something, I know not to bullshit my way through it, but to find out the best answer for you. I’m a damned good artist and, like I said, I am a quick study. If you don’t hire me, then you’re making a mistake.”

Tony can’t curtail a smile from curving his lips. “That’s some speech there. I like the cocky attitude. I like how you think. I’m not interested in what you want to do five years from now, nor am I interested in how you work on a team. I want you to know that being my PA means that you are totally one hundred percent dedicated to me. You would move into the Tower. You would be at my beck and call all day and all night. You will have one day off every ten days-.”

“Every seven.”

“What?”

“One day off every seven, but I’ll come back by 7 in the evening unless I clear it with you first.” Steve is practically off the chair, but he stays seated, below Tony.

Tony likes that little tidbit. He knows not to pressure his potential boss. So, Tony puts everything on its head. “Stand up.”

“Stand?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “Please stand.”

Steve follows the instruction, climbs to his feet, and stands at parade rest. Tony circles him, maybe it feels a little creepy or a little like a bird of prey. But Tony wants to get a feel for how big this guy is and whether he’ll be useful in his daily routines. Steve remains stock still.

“I’m not checking you out. Since you may be lugging heavy objects and may need to step in as a bodyguard for certain events, I want to make sure you’re up for the part.” 

“As an Army Captain I was required to carry up to 120 pounds. I could probably do about 180 or so. I could carry you, Mister Stark.” Tony doesn’t fail to notice that Steve scanned him with a quizzical eye before responding. 

Tony chews on his cheek as he weighs his next step. The man is earnest, probably overly so into the taxing arena, possesses great artistic skills, and, from what he’s learned about his intelligence testing provided to him by Pepper, he would make an excellent assistant both inside and outside the laboratory. 

“I have a few people to discuss your candidacy with. I will get back to you by Thursday of this week. If you don’t hear from me or Ms. Potts, then it means we’ve moved on and we wish you well. If you do hear from us, then it means you come in on Thursday, since the contract and the non-disclosure papers and move in that night. Agreed?”

“Just like that?”

Tony quirks a brow and tilts his head a bit. “Yep, just like that. Agreed?”

“I can’t see why not. If you have any more questions-.” Steve flexes his hands open and closed – a movement that Tony catches out of the corner of his eyes. 

“No need.” Tony gestures for Steve to leave, and thankfully, the man takes the hint and folds up his portfolio. He thanks Tony for the opportunity and lets himself out of the office. After a full minute, Pepper joins him from the side room of the large office in the Tower. “Did you watch?”

“Yes.” 

“What do you think?” Tony says and rubs at his temple. The hemifacial spasms have started again. The pain in his face pounds a rhythm like drums beating a war anthem. 

“He’s very qualified, but he knows nothing in the biomedical realm, Tony.” Pepper has a tablet in her hands, and she taps on it. It immediately sends the data to Tony’s glasses. He reads through it as she speaks. “He has a high IQ and a reasonable aptitude in the sciences. I think he’ll catch on quickly, but he won’t be more than a lab technician.”

“A lab technician with great technical drafting skills. I think he’s exactly what I need,” he says and then hisses as the pain increases in his head. It’s spreading now, as it always does. It’s the strain on his optical nerve and the feedback from the implant. He might not feel pain in the nerve but the stress always causes headaches and spasms. He powers through it, as he always does. “How fast can we finish the security and background checks?”

“Happy’s finishing them now. I expect that Captain Rogers will come up clean. Except for his tendency in his elementary and middle school days to get into fights, he has a good record. Notable awards and medals in the army.” Pepper sends that information to his eyeglasses as well. 

He doesn’t concentrate on it, lets the data stream to the side of the lens, forgotten and ignored. “But you think he’s the one?”

Pepper places the tablet on the desk and crosses her arms. She’s been his Personal Assistant on and off for over a decade now. He made the decision to ask her to step into the role of CEO of his company while he takes a back seat in research and development. If he’s honest with himself – which he tries not to be because that way leads to disappointment and disenchantment – Pepper was always way overqualified to be his Personal Assistant. She got her degree from Harvard Business School. She has a MBA. She deserves so much better, and finally he’s able to do it with Stane out of the way and his life finally on track. Partially on track.

“Tony, we’ve been through a dozen candidates except for the missing requirement of knowledge of biomedical sciences and stats he’s the best one we’ve seen or interviewed. You know that the bio requirement is just an ancillary concern. Strange is always willing to step into that role for you,” Pepper says, and she places her hand on his. It is a gentle touch. “The headache’s back, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and lets his head bow. It hurt so god damned much. He zeroes in on the discussion over Rogers as a candidate. “I don’t want him to do that.”

“You don’t want Steve Rogers then?” She picks up her tablet, readying to wipe him off the list.

Tony stays her hand. “No, I don’t want my neurologist to interfere with my day to day life. If I need Strange for a medical issue, sure, but not my life. I can’t have him in my life all the time I can always tap Banner if I need to.”

Pepper nods and then says, “I understand. So, Steve then?”

“Steve, yes. Bring him back on Thursday. Let’s get the non-disclosure ready for him to sign. Also, bring in the best biochemist in the States, and see if he can impart Steve with some knowledge. Also bring in a stats person, too. He’ll need to do some heavy studying if he’s going to help with the project.” Tony stops then because even talking causes his head to throb in percussion to his voice. He closes his eyes and takes off the glasses, a slight hum issues from the frames. “How long was it?”

“You wore them for four hours and 39 minutes,” Pepper whispers as if it hurts her to admit the time.

“Seventeen minutes less than yesterday. It’s getting worse.” He doesn’t want to face reality of what’s happening, what has been happening since that fateful day his drunk father got in a head on collusion with his mother and himself in the car. He should have taken the keys away from him, he should have yanked his mother out of the car and not gone with his father. He should have called a cab. But he didn’t and here he is facing the consequences every damned day. 

“You’re just tired,” Pepper says. She’s sweet to say so; she always trying to keep a positive attitude. “You said it yourself somedays when you push too much the interface goes wonky.”

He laughs. It’s soft and dies quickly – joy withering on the vine. “Wonky is that the technical term?”

“You bet it is,” she says and then reaches up and touches his face. She cups her hand on his cheek. “I can get you some pain meds, if you need them.”

Pain meds – more like ibuprofen – not alcohol. There’s always weed, he can have that, but he’s on the wagon and he wants to stay there. He’d much prefer a stiff drink. “No. I’ll just rest a while. Like you said it’s just a little wonky today.”

“Do you want my help? It isn’t a problem.”

He doesn’t know what he would have done without Pepper, without Rhodey. But he can’t keep them from their lives just because where and how he ended on that snowy December night. He knows his hands shake when he puts the glasses back on. He blinks away the tears and tells himself they’re from the strain. “No. I’m good. I’ll just finish up here and then go to the penthouse for the rest of the day.”

“You should sleep, Tony. You’re exhausted. The headaches are coming frequently too. Have you called Doctor Strange?” Pepper doesn’t move away, but Tony needs to – he needs space – he needs more space and he needs his freedom. He feels confined and borrowed. Borrowed as if he’s a book that’s been taken out again and again and all the words are faded away from being consumed and never paid for – he’s wasted. 

“I have an appointment with Strange next week. If we hire this guy Steve, he can take me – hear all the horror stories of what happened. It will be a good learning experience for him,” Tony says. He shifts the glasses to shades, darkening with the lenses with just one quick shift of his eyes. “You go. You have things to do. I’m going to sit here and check out the files on the good Captain.” He takes the tablet from her.

“After Happy finishes his security check, you want me to offer him the position and set up the meeting for Thursday?”

“Please.” He settles back in his leather chair, leaning back with his feet on the desk. With this nonchalant attitude he’s sure to get her to leave. Pepper lingers for a moment as if she doubts him. 

“If you need me?”

“I’ll call. Don’t worry.” He gestures for her to get along with her work. “Oh, and remember you have that trip to the West Coast.”

“Yes, I’ll have Natasha get everything organized for it.” Natasha is Pepper’s assistant now. She rotated through Tony’s employment, but Pepper and Natasha worked together so much better.

“It will be your last duty as my PA,” Tony says, and he can’t keep the wistful tone out of his voice.

She leans down and kisses the crown of his head. “Now, we can be friends. Not boss and employee. Isn’t that better.”

Taking her hand, Tony grasps it. Her fingers are slender but strong. He always thought of her as powerful but graceful. Her fragrance reminds him of lilacs in springtime. “Much better.”

“Let me get this started. I’ll get everything in order for Steve,” Pepper says as she slips away. He listens to her heels clack on the tiled floor, the door open and close – the whisper of it shutting. When he hears the latch click in place, he takes his glasses off and reclines back in his seat. 

“Thursday,” Tony murmurs. Maybe Thursday will change everything for Tony, maybe Thursday will mean he’s finally found a way out of his living nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

The garret apartment is anything but romantic or artsy. It’s hot, cramped, and back breaking since he can only really stand up straight in the center of the stupid third story walk up. Steve took the apartment with the idea he wouldn’t stay for long, a few months, maybe six on the outside. A year and a half later, Steve climbs up the stairs to his lonely little flat in Brooklyn. His feet are leaden, and his back already aches just thinking of standing half bent over at his easel. 

He fumbles for his keys and thinks about Bucky, always there to help him dig them out, or retrieve one from one of his hidey holes. But Bucky and Sam are in Washington DC, living the happily ever after life. Steve never would have thought they would have made a good couple, but somehow, they found each other and the smart remarks and sharps barbs turned into long walks and dates until they could no deny it any longer. Steve is happy for them. He really is, but he misses them something fierce. He can’t begrudge them their happiness or the opportunity they received when Phil Coulson called for them to start one of the rehab centers in DC. The veteran organization that ran the rehab center had one in New York – Brooklyn Heights no less – but now the grant Coulson won allowed them to branch out and include new sites. It was a dream come true for Sam.

What it meant for Steve was that his two best friends left, and he ended up watching the train of life depart – getting smaller and smaller on the tracks. He unlocks his door and ducks into his apartment. It’s July and it’s already sweltering in the small studio. He shrugs off his shirt immediately, and then toes off his shoes. With a yank both of his socks are off and he stows them in his shoes. He goes to the small fridge that really doesn’t hold more than a few days’ worth of food and pulls out his pitcher of fresh water. Instead of bothering to get a glass, he drinks directly from the pitcher. Why not? No one is going to be visiting him. 

With the pitcher in hand he heads around the small bistro table that serves as his dining table and plops down on the two-seater couch. He got it from a secondhand store. It’s not bad, just needs to get some new filling for the cushions. It wouldn’t be bad at all, if it didn’t have to serve as his bed as well. He seriously thinks he might get some kind of back injury from sleeping on it. Or trying to – most days he ends up on the floor or out on the small balcony he has (fire escape). That has been a life saver. Most days he sits out there and eats, watches Netflix on his phone, or sometimes he draws. Nights mean sleeping out there, especially in the summertime. 

Steve lies his head back on the couch and stares up at the dormered ceiling. He needs this job. Natasha put him in touch with the hiring agency, put in a good word for him too with her boss, Ms. Pepper Potts. He doesn’t fill some of the requirements but who could:

_The perfect Personal Assistant will be attentive to details, excellent with organizational and managerial duties, be able to deal with the pressures of media and paparazzi. Written and verbal communication skills are key. Time management is essential. Tactical know how a must. Strategic planning to include personal and professional management is a requirement of the job. ___

__When Steve first read the description his heart soared like he was one of the those ridiculous characters in a musical. It was perfect. He could handle all the requirements. But then the description went on:_ _

___The candidate must have technical drafting skills, be capable of reading complex technical schematics, have a basic understanding of artificial intelligence, and biochemical interfaces._ _ _

__That last part stopped him in his tracks. He very nearly didn’t apply, but Natasha goaded him into it._ _

__“What do you have to lose? Living in this hellhole?” Natasha had said as she sat on his couch one day last week. “Apply. I already told Pepper about you. She’s waiting for your resume.”_ _

__“I’m a comic book artist, Nat. She’s never going to hire me.”_ _

__Natasha pointed at the screen in front of him, his 1st generation iPad. The damned thing glitched more than it worked. “You can do all of that.”_ _

__“Except the artificial intelligence and biochemical stuff.”_ _

__“You’re a fast study.” Natasha shrugged her shoulders. “Every other candidate they’ve had has been a mess. When Pepper saw your resume she was genuinely interested. She didn’t just say it because I worked with her.”_ _

__Steve went ahead and applied. Now he really wants the job and that only leads to danger. Whatever he wants, that he gets always leads to danger. As a child he’d been sickly and thin as a reed, but then adolescence happened, and he grew stronger and bigger but then his mother got sick. The universe balanced out. She died. He thrived. He hated it. He shies away from the memories of the hospital, sitting by her side, touching her golden hair against her washed out cheek._ _

__Steve blinks away the tears. No. He’s not going to think about his mother and all that she sacrificed for him. But then there was going into the Army, wanting to serve because his father served. He did it to show respect. Serving felt like the right thing to do – Bucky came with him. He met Sam in the Service and Peggy._ _

__Peggy._ _

__His heart still breaks every time he thinks about her. Standing, Steve goes over to his easel, tucked under the stack of drawing pads is a photograph. She’s more beautiful than he can remember or capture. He’ll never be able to show how very lovely she was. She died in that mission gone wrong. They’d wanted to be together. They’d even gone through all of the right channels so they could date. They were engaged to be married. She didn’t care about his bisexuality; she even believed him – some people didn’t because he’d never had the opportunity to date guys. Or maybe he was just afraid of dating guys. He smirks as he gazes at the photograph. He was scared of dating anyone. Peggy asked him out the first time. He lines the side of her cheek in the photograph with his finger. She taught him so much._ _

__He misses her so much._ _

__He shoves the photograph into a drawer._ _

__The universe balances his life out. It gives things to him but takes away others. What will it take away if he ends up with this job? Just at that moment he phone buzzes and he tugs it out of his pocket. Sighing, Steve answers, “Hey Sam.”_ _

__“Well, did you get it?” Sam sounds so happy, so very happy._ _

__“Don’t know. Won’t know until Thursday.”_ _

__“Fuck, dude. That’s your birthday.” He curses under his breath and Steve can hear that he’s talking to someone in the background. “We’re coming up. You shouldn’t be alone.”_ _

__Steve drops onto his couch; it creaks in protest. “You’re assuming I didn’t get it.” He closes his eyes. It’s so hot his brain might melt._ _

__“I’m assuming you’re going to talk yourself out of it like you did with that art showing,” Sam says. “You remember.”_ _

__Steve scrunches up his face. He almost had a fine arts showing at a major studio but he chickened out at the last minute. With that Steve was sure he was blacklisted by every major art studio in the city, perhaps the state. “I didn’t have the quality pieces I needed.” That’s a lame excuse and he knows it._ _

__“Well, you need to have more faith in yourself Steve.”_ _

__That was something no one ever accused him of before in his entire life. “Some say I have too much faith. I’m too righteous.” He hears a scoff in the background. Sam must have him on speakerphone. “Buck, shut up.”_ _

__From the distance Steve hears over the line, “Believe in everyone but yourself. Sure, you think you know it all, about what’s right and what’s wrong.” Bucky’s voice gets closer as he talks. “But if it comes to you lying down on the grenade or it blowing the place sky high, we all know what you would do. From personal experience.”_ _

__“That’s because I have a sense of duty,” Steve snaps back – it’s friendly not antagonistic at all he tells himself._ _

__“That’s because you have no sense of self-preservation.”_ _

__“Children,” Sam says and they both quiet. After a moment to allow them to self-reflect, Sam says in a low voice, “You know, he’s not wrong, Steve.” Before Steve can jump in and defend himself he continues, “You always put everyone before yourself. We all know that. We all know that you’re still eating yourself up over what happened on the mission.”_ _

__They – none of them – ever actually use the name of the mission. Not anymore._ _

__“I lost Riley, you lost Peggy. You still think it was all your fault and you’re still beating yourself up over it. Sure, the Army cleared you of any PTSD but hell if I know the signs. You isolate yourself, you’re still angry at yourself, you-.”_ _

__“Stop, Sam.” Steve wants to hang up, wants to cut off the conversation, and just let the heat flay away at his brain cells, but he doesn’t. He respects Sam too much to do that. “I get it. I do. I’m trying, aren’t I. Shit, I applied to a job I don’t have the skillset for-.”_ _

__“Come to DC,” Buck chimes in. “We got an extra room in our rowhouse. Come on to DC. You can shack up here. There’s a great art community here.”_ _

__Steve closes down. He doesn’t want charity. He never liked charity. Maybe it’s the fiery Irish in him or his mother’s unbridled pride. His hand tenses on the phone and he physically has to stop his fist from cracking it. He mumbles a maybe out through clenched teeth._ _

__“Just because we asked doesn’t mean you failed there, Steve,” Buck says lowly._ _

__“This is my home, Bucky. I grew up in Brooklyn.” It’s a weak excuse and he knows it._ _

__“You have no family there. Your friends are all here,” Sam adds. “We would love to have you. The room’s already for you.”_ _

__Steve swallows back the vile taste of failure and nods his head. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it.”_ _

__“We’re coming up for Thursday.”_ _

__“Please. You don’t have to.” Steve throws his head back. “I can get by on my own.”_ _

__“But you don’t have to,” Bucky says. It’s the same thing he said to Steve when his mother died. “Come on. We want to come up.”_ _

__“We want to see the New York celebration. We don’t want to stay in town for the DC one. You get my drift, right?” Sam adds the little caveat on the end to guilt Steve into it. Who would want to stay in town for an arrogant extravaganza paid for by the taxpayers to pay homage to a would-be dictator? “Come on it will be fun.”_ _

__“There aren’t probably any hotels with open rooms.”_ _

__“We can bed down there. Sweat our asses off,” Sam replies, and Steve can practically see the smile. “Be like ol’times.”_ _

__Three of them in his tiny apartment will be unmanageable but he can’t deny them. “Okay, okay. But if I get the job I need to pack up and get over there ASAP.”_ _

__“What’s that again?” Buck asks. “What do you mean you gotta pack up and hightail your ass over to Stark’s?” Of course, Bucky would have spent time looking up his potential future boss._ _

__“If I get the job, he wants me to go and see him on Thursday for something and then I have to pack and live there.”_ _

__“What? Are you his nanny?” Bucky asked. “What the hell?”_ _

__“His personal assistant. You do know what that means, right? I’m his girl Friday. I get to make him coffee and clean up his clothes, and shit like that.” God, he had a Fine Arts degree. He had dreams. His mother had dreams. He recalls her face smiling, beaming with pride when he won the Best Overall Art Portfolio in high school and then when he got accepted into university on the merits of that portfolio. She never saw him graduate, but damned if he wasn’t dying inside because of where he ended up in life._ _

__“It means you can eat and do your art. You’ll get there Steve, you will,” Bucky says. There’s a hint of empathy in his voice. A lot of Bucky’s dreams went down the tubes when he lost his arm in during the mission. Steve shouldn’t even be whining about his life. He came out whole and not dead. His eyes involuntarily tear up at the last thought – Peggy is gone because of him._ _

__He needs to get off the phone. “Listen, I gotta get some drafts over to my client.”_ _

__“You gotta client – that’s great!” Bucky replies and Sam agrees._ _

__“Just an independent comic book start up. Trying to break into the big guys. I have some art for her to take a look at.” Steve isn’t lying. It’s a small gig but it’s promising, and the writers are actually really enthusiastic about his work. “So, I have to go.”_ _

__Sam mumbles something to Bucky, but then says, “We’ll come in on Wednesday to celebrate your birthday. See you then?”_ _

__“Okay, okay.” At least he has a day to clean up his wrecked apartment. The connection cuts out and Steve picks up his pitcher of water and drinks. It’s already getting warm. He needs to get dress and get those drafts over to the writers. But he sits for a long time, staring at his phone as if willing it to ring and tell him he got the job._ _

__Shit, how desperate is he?_ _

__Steve glances around the attic apartment and sighs, “Way, way too desperate.” At this point, if some guy with a red skull face offered him a job he just might take it. He lifts the pitcher to no one. “Here’s to satan!”_ _

__His mother would be horrified. He’s horrified. Forcing himself off the couch, Steve begins the slow methodical chore of cleaning up the place. He puts things away, tosses his laundry in the bag, hanging on a hook near the door. He cleans out the fridge. Apparently, he has no food. No fresh food anyway. He checks his till, a small tin on a shelf above the two-burner hot plate. $15.23. That is not enough for him to get through the end of the week. That means he has to get an advance on the sketches._ _

__After he finishes his rudimentary cleaning of the apartment, Steve takes a quick shower. Which is a feast in the summertime because damned if he ever has hot water. So, the cold water is refreshing, though a little shocking. He rinses down, cleans his hair, and then the water starts to peter out. He rolls his eyes. It’s not even hot, why is it coming from the hot water tank. He closes down the faucets and gets out of the shower. It isn’t easy since he has to kneel to shower anyhow. Drying, Steve quickly fixes his hair and then dresses. He gathers up the leather portfolio he had his resume in and switches it out for the sketches of the different panels._ _

__Without the fifteen bucks from his tin, Steve heads out the door. He picks up his motorcycle keys and helmet. Strapping on his messenger bag, he shoves the portfolio into place and then jogs down the stairs. He might be able to get a few hundred bucks if he’s lucky. Steve gets the motorcycle ready to go and he weaves through traffic. It takes him about a half hour to get there and when he walks into the small office on the second floor of a walk up, the summer heat has already negated his cold shower. He pushes his hair back out of his face and walks into the office._ _

__Darcy sits at the front desk, popping her bubble gum and smiling. She’s the story editor and doubles as the administrative assistant. “Hey! Muscles Two is here.”_ _

__“Hey Darcy. I have the sketches for Thor and Jane.”_ _

__“Come on in. They have more of the story for you,” Darcy jumps down from her stool and opens the half door that separates the vestibule area from the office/reception area. He thanks her and then slips through the entrance. She cracks her gum and leads him through the angled hallway to the back offices. He’s sure that the offices double as their living arrangements as well. Several of the doors are closed._ _

__“Thor? Jane?” Darcy presents him like he’s a gift. “Muscles Two is here with sketches!”_ _

__Jane glances up from her small laptop and smiles. “Oh great! We really need to get to press soon.”_ _

__“Verily!”_ _

__“Lord, Thor, stop it. That’s the Warriors Three, not you. You’re from Norway not Asgard.” Jane swivels in her chair and gives Thor a kind slap on the arm. From what he heard (from Darcy – she likes to gossip) they were once an item, but no more. They’re still great friends, but Jane’s moved on to someone named Val Kyrie. He hasn’t met her yet._ _

__Thor grins at her and Jane rolls her eyes. She makes grabbing hands at Steve. “Come on. Let’s see. Asgardian Comics is supposed to launch on the first of August. We don’t have much time.”_ _

__August 1st is going to make his life hell. “That’s pretty soon. I don’t have all the panels done.” His chest tenses up._ _

__“That’s fine. We’re only putting out a preview issue. It’s only 8 pages. You already did the cover and four pages. We just need you to finish up the last page. That other two pages are the back cover and the info page.” Jane turns her computer so he can see the layout. “Darcy is doing the graphic layout. What do you think?”_ _

__He leans down but then hooks a chair with his toe and rolls it over. “Do you mind?”_ _

__“Only if I get to see the panels?” Jane urges._ _

__“Oh yes, of course.” He hands the bag over to her and then starts working on the design. Darcy hangs over his shoulder working along with him. She’s not insulted; she’s happy to learn._ _

__Before he knows it, the sun is setting and they’re ordering take out. Steve tries to wave off the offer of food, but his stomach rumbles and they laugh at him. Thor slaps him on the back so hard Steve thinks he might see next week. When the takeout comes, Steve is happy to indulge but he insists on being the one to clean up after they finish their meal. He stays a while for good measure. It feels good to be around creative types. Darcy escapes somewhere around the 9 o’clock hour, saying she has a hot date. Steve watches her go and can’t help but feel a little lost._ _

__“You will find someone, Steve,” Thor says. They’ve had a few heart to heart talks. He’s sure that Thor even heard a little bit of his story when Sam and Bucky visited the last time and they all went to a baseball game._ _

__Jane huffs at him. “He’s my safety net, don’t go giving him away.”_ _

__Steve laughs and then says his goodbyes. Jane brings him to the front desk. “We can give you an advance, Steve. You have most of the panels done. If you could digitalize them and get the coloring done by next week, we can go into production. It’s a short run. We’re only printing about a thousand.”_ _

__“I can get it done. No problem.” Stark isn’t going to call. He needs the job and he needs to commit. It’s good to get in the ground floor of a new up and coming venture._ _

__She offers him $75. It’s not a lot, far short of what he needs, but at least he’s already paid his rent this month. It’s an advance on what he’s going to be paid once they launch the line. He thanks her, but Jane apologizes it can’t be more. “Thor’s dad backed out. He wants his son to come home instead of writing kid comic books. So he refused to pay the rest of the capital he promised.”_ _

__“It’s fine Jane. This is just great.” Steve pockets the $75 and bids her a good night after he thanks her once again for the dinner. At least he doesn’t have to feed himself tonight. He waves goodbye as he skips down the concrete steps of the stoop. At the very least he can buy groceries for when Sam and Bucky come to town._ _

__Riding his motorcycle back to his apartment, Steve watches the silver light of night fall upon the city. He’ll always love New York, cannot even imagine leaving it. Bucky and Sam have offered their place numerous times. He always turns them down. If he is being practical (but he is not), Steve would say yes and leave the harsh city behind to start fresh in DC. But the thought of leaving his home just rankles. He can’t imagine trying to fit into the pace of DC which is different than everywhere else in the country. Sure, Steve’s visited a few times. It’s a different world there. As a painter he sees it in flashes of color, hot, hot reds but lined with cool and colder blues. No, he wants New York with its silvery glow shiny and blacker than tar dirt in some strange but beautiful juxtaposition._ _

__Pulling up to the apartment, Steve angles the motorcycle toward the front stoop of the house. It isn’t a legal parking space, but he never gets a ticket, just the exasperation of the first-floor tenant. He climbs the stairs to his apartment, the temperature rising 10 degrees every step. Once again, he strips down to his t-shirt and boxers as he closes and locks the door. Time to pull his bedding to the balcony again. After he accomplishes that, Steve tucks the money into this tin and then goes to brush his teeth and rinse his face. He collects some ice cubes from his tiny freezer (it’s a slot and not really a freezer). With the ice cubes bundled in a washcloth, he goes to the balcony and adjusts his pillow. Just as he puts the ice cubes on his neck his phone chimes._ _

__It’s 11:02. It’s too late for anyone other than Sam or Bucky. Maybe they changed their minds, maybe they can’t come. Sam’s parents probably want a weekend with their son. Steve grabs for his phone that he placed on the window ledge. Without even looking at the number, he answers, “Yeah?”_ _

__“Hmm, yes, is this Steve Rogers’ number?”_ _

__Steve pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns. Who the hell is calling him this late? Putting the phone back to his ear he says, “Yeah, it’s Steve Rogers. How can I help you?”_ _

__“Sorry, is this a good time?”_ _

__Good time? He furrows his brows, what does this dude want? “Hmm, it’s a little late. Is this the management company? I paid my rent. I literally sent it the other day-.”_ _

__“No, no. This is Tony Stark.”_ _

__Steve bolts upright from his makeshift bed. “Tony Stark. Oh shit. No. I’m sorry. Language, language.” He clears his throat, tries to calm his racing pulse, breathes deeply, and then says, “Sorry, yes this is Steve Rogers. How can I help you Mister Stark?”_ _

__“Is it late? I’m sorry if it’s late. I don’t always have a good feel for what time it is. My circadian rhythm is screwy.” He blows out into the phone receiver. Steve yanks his phone away from his ear, stares at it for second, but then he hears Tony still talking. “-if that works for you.”_ _

__“Hmm, excuse me. You cut out; I didn’t catch that at all.” In the distance a siren wails. Across the street a baby is fussing and a cat rushes to chase something in the shadows._ _

__“I’m offering you the job, Steve. I’d like it if you could come in on Thursday and get the paperwork signed. If you could move in that day, then that would be perfect. I have a meeting on Friday, and I need an assistant to be there for me.”_ _

__“Oh, you’re offering me the job?”_ _

__“At a substantial pay scale. I can send you the numbers,” Tony says. “Actually Ms. Potts will send you the contract so you can read over the necessaries. But we can’t send you everything until you sign a non-disclosure.”_ _

__The moments of the day pop into his head like a spread of photographs throw across a table in a collage of color. Talking with Jane about the finale of the preview issue. Going over the coloring with Thor and his plans for the next line of comics they want to launch. Even working Darcy to finish the graphic layout comes back to him. If only the pay was better, if only he could hold out a little longer until Asgardian Comics flourishes. If only Odin kept his promises to Thor._ _

__“Well? Steve?”_ _

__“Hmm, sorry again. I wanted to ask if I would still be able to work on my obligations in the comic book field?” Steve waits. He won’t admit to praying a little and asking his mother in heaven to help him out a bit._ _

__“I can’t see why not. Literally, I can’t. As long as you can fulfill your duties for me, you can do whatever during your free time.”_ _

__“Okay, okay. Sure, I can be there on Thursday. What time?”_ _

__“What time is good for you? Remember my rhythms are all screwy,” Tony adds._ _

__“How about ten in the morning?” He wants to get there before the traffic and crowds get too horrible due to the bridge closings and the fireworks._ _

__“Sounds good. I’ll get my butler to set an alarm. And Steve?”_ _

__“Yes, Mister Stark?”_ _

__“Don’t let me down.”_ _

__Steve shakes his head, then realizes Tony can’t see him. “No, Mister Stark. You can depend on me.”_ _

__“I hope so. See you on Thursday.”_ _

__“Thursday.”_ _


	3. Chapter 3

“Stop fidgeting, I can’t get your tie done.” Pepper unknots the tie again and flips up his collar. “Where are your glasses?”

“Table? I think? Maybe my nightstand?” Tony runs a hand through his hair and Pepper exhales loudly and into his face. He coughs at her. 

“Well, that’s nice.” 

He murmurs a ‘sorry’.

“Stop moving. Steve is supposed to be here in 15 minutes and we still don’t have you ready. I have to pull out all the non-disclosure forms and the additional documents for the contract yet.” Pepper efficiently whips the knot into shape. She tugs down his collar and smooths out his jacket. Pressing her hands on his shoulders, she announces, “There that looks good.” 

“Glasses?” Tony asks and Pepper moves away. She shuffles across the floor in bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” 

“In the other room. I don’t care to wear high heels longer than I have to. Where did you say your glasses were?” She clatters around on the nightstand and then she slips into the bathroom. He hears her huff. “Here they are.” Her voice has a different pitch in the marble tiled room, and he smiles.

“Sorry, forgot about that,” he says. She places them in his hand. Tony runs a finger along the arm of the glasses and then puts them on. He grimaces a little as the room focuses around him. “Nice blouse.”

Pepper smiles. “You gave it to me. Lord only knows why you would give someone deathly allergic to strawberries a blouse with embroidered berries on it.”

Tony shrugs. “Maybe I thought it could make up for all the sweetness you’re missing out on.” He fiddles with the tie; the color is off but he’s not telling Pepper. She’ll only argue with him. He taps the side of the glass frame. It tells him the time. “Almost witching hour.”

“I can’t believe we made him come in on the 4th of July. That is kind of rude.” Pepper gathers up his phone and tablet. He stows them in his inner jacket pockets. The tablet is a mini and fits rather nicely. 

Pressing his hands along the outside of the jacket, Tony smooths it down. “Ready?”

“I will be. Let’s get you to the offices and then I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring him up from the lobby in a bit.”

“Thanks, Pep.” He grasps her hand for a second, just a slight touch – a connection she knows he needs and allows it. He blows out a heavy breath. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“He’s a good choice, Tony. He’ll be a good assistant and he can double up with guard duty when Happy is with me,” Pepper says and then leans over to peck him on the cheek. “Come on now.”

“Yeah, an all-around good guy to help the-.”

She stops him before he gets to self-denigrating. “Tony, don’t talk like that about one of my favorite people in the world.” 

He acquiesces to her request, because he always should. “Can you get me Dummy, please?”

Pepper huffs at him but it isn’t annoyance. He can tell by the pitch. “Why you call it Dummy, I’ll never know. It’s the only one with an embedded AI system.” She hands him to the folded rod.

“Well, if it worked right all the time, then I wouldn’t need a PA now would I?” Tony says and slips Dummy into his pants’ pocket. The slight curve of it should be hidden by the front of his jacket. “Good?”

She assesses him, nods, and agrees, “Good. Now, let’s get a move on. He’s probably down in the lobby now.” Pepper ushers him to the office and tells him to sit behind the desk. “You need to look professional.”

He taps the glass topped desk that still has nothing on it. “Yes, very official.” He rarely works in his office. He prefers his laboratory, two floors down. 

Pepper frowns at him. “Can you go and pick up the documents from the printer?” She’s tapping on her tablet again. “They’re all printed out.”

“Why do we have printed documents when we have him sign electronically, anyhow?” Tony gets up from the chair and swings around the desk, dragging his finger across it as he moves. It will leave a mark. 

“Some people like to have copies of what they sign, printed copies. It’s just a formality,” she answers and snaps her fingers. “Hop to it! Then get back here and behind the desk.” She clacks out of the office. She must have slipped on her high heeled shoes at some point. 

Tony stares after her. The doors to his office are frosted but he can follow her shadow. Life is about shadows. Dark and light, gray and white. He knows too much about shadows and light. Much more than he ever wanted to know. He goes to the back room of his office – it’s where Pepper hid out when he was interviewing Steve. Tony doesn’t look at the frosted glass here, the variations of gray, the silver of the desk frames and the tables. He picks up the documents but doesn’t check them. There’s no need. Pepper is always efficient. If there’s something he knows that’s black and white – it’s that he can always count on Pepper. He also knows she sent him on the errand to make him feel like he’s useful. Part of him should resent her, but instead he just feels a little sadder, a little less useful, a little more isolated.

When he gets back to the office and his desk, he hears something in the anteroom – the waiting room for people who are visiting him. He touches the frames of his glasses and concentrates on the shadows. The one silhouette is definitely Pepper with her ponytail and absurdly high heeled shoes and the other – the other can’t be anyone but Adonis himself, Steve Rogers. Data streams over the lenses. Data he shouldn’t be gathering like height, weight, shoulder measurements, and waist measurements. Temperature – 99. Steve is running a little hot today. Nerves? Illness? Too hot outside? Tony sighs. He wants Pepper to bring him in, get this over with. 

It takes a few more minutes as Pepper leans in close and speaks to Steve. Tony gets a slight irrational worry that she’s prepping him, getting him ready for the meeting. He doesn’t want that; he wants to discuss everything himself. He starts to get up out of the chair again, but then Pepper turns toward the door and Steve follows. She swings it open, a smile wide on her face. She looks charming and lovely as always.

“Tony? Steve Rogers is here to see you about the offer,” Pepper says. She steps out of the way and allows Steve to enter before she closes the door. Standing behind Steve, Pepper gestures to Tony. He’s never been good with reading ambiguous sign language, especially now.

He coughs and waves to the chair in front of the desk. “Please, Steve sit. Thank you for coming in today. I know it must have been an inconvenience.”

“No inconvenience, sir. My friends and I celebrated last night.” Steve cringes because he must realize how that sounds. “Not with alcohol. Just with cake.”

“Cake? You have cake for the Fourth?” Tony furrows his brows and fiddles with the papers on his desk, the documents that Steve has to sign. “Strange tradition. Most people have hot dogs, apple pie, and fireworks on Independence Day.”

“Oh no. I had it for my birthday.” Steve sinks further into the chair. Tony doesn’t think he could possibly curl up further. “Just a quiet get together. No big deal or anything.” He waves his hands like he’s trying to erase everything he’s just said.

“Your birthday is on the third of July?” Tony abhors small talk. It bothers him. Feels like he’s slowly being flayed to death. 

“No. No. It’s today,” Steve hisses at the end of his sentence. Before Tony can bark out any laughter at the unfortunate day Steve decided to make his entrance into the world, Steve rushes to say, “Really no big deal. The job, sir?” He points at the documents and, for all the world, looks like he might salivate to just sign them in his own blood. 

Tony considers making fun of the guy for his birthday, but then again, he’s the one that asked Steve to come in on a holiday _and_ on his birthday. Tony figures he can cut the guy some slack. “Well.” He clears his throat and then glances at Pepper. He inhales and exhales before he slides the Non-Disclosure Form across the surface of the desktop. “Before we start, you’ll need to review and sign this form.” 

Pepper steps up to the desk and lays a pen down next to the paper. “You’ll be signing it here as well as.” She places a tablet on the desk. “Here.” 

Steve picks up the paper and like anyone in his position ‘pretends to read it’. Tony gives him credit for actually staring at the eight-page document for more than a minute. In fact, it’s eight minutes almost to a second according to the data from his glasses before Steve tears his focus away from the document.

“It says here that telling anyone including family anything that pertains to Mister Stark directly leads to termination of the contract and injunction.”

“Yes.” Pepper takes over for him. Tony relaxes back in his chair. 

“Who is the family? Mine or Mister Stark’s?” 

“What’s that?” Pepper asks and she leans over the desk to reach the document. Steve slides it over to her and points out the issue with the pen tip. She reads and then glances Tony’s way. “Hmm. I think it would be your family. Mister Stark doesn’t have immediate family anymore.”

“Okay, well, it’s not a problem. Neither do I,” Steve says and then pulls the paper back to finish reading it. He reads the entire document. It takes a while because there are other questions along the way. When he’s finished, he nods and says, “I’m good with it. Do you want me to have an attorney to check it out or anything?”

Pepper glances again at Tony but he shrugs and shakes his head. “We’re on a tight deadline, since Mister Stark needs you for a meeting tomorrow. But if you feel inclined to have an attorney look at it, then we can reschedule your start date.” She looks to Tony again. “I suppose I can fill in.”

“No,” Steve interrupts the silent communication. “I can do it. I just wanted to make sure that wasn’t an issue. I’m not in need of a lawyer or anything.” He picks up the pen again and signs the form. Pepper offers him the tablet and he does the same on the tablet document after checking to ensure it’s the same one. It’s both insulting and reassuring that he’s so exacting. 

“Okay then,” Tony says. “Show him the contract.”

Pepper flips the pages to the contract and points out pertinent sections, especially the salary. Steve gasps a few times along the way and Tony only smiles. He’s generous, very generous. Steve signs both the hard copy and the digital documents. When he glances up at Tony, his face is flush, and Tony reads his biometrics to see that his heart is pounding a mile a minute.

Tony smiles, graciously and welcoming. “Now, Steve, let’s get the show on the road.” Steve stands up and rubs his hands on his pants once. Tony waves to Pepper. “Please have Jarvis come in and measure Steve. We’ll need to get him a new wardrobe.”

Steve looks down at himself and then back up at Tony. His face is hard but also ashamed. “I don’t need new clothes.”

“Part of that contract you just read and signed said we would furnish your wardrobe – that starts now.” Tony gives one last glance at Pepper and then sighs. “And the whole non-disclosure, trust thing? That starts now as well.” He yanks off his glasses as if they’re an offensive insect and tosses them onto the table. He’s only worn them for about an hour, so the headache is miniscule and there aren’t any spasms of his facial nerves. He swallows down the bile of fear and then pulls out Dummy. With a flick of his wrist Dummy becomes his walking stick, his lifeline. It was his first design – after the accident. 

“Pepper?”

She clears her throat and says, “Steve, please stand next to Mister Stark. You’ll need to learn how to help him navigate through crowds of people without actually giving anything away.”

Steve shuffles toward Tony. He’s standing close. Tony can hear him breathe. “Navigate? Like a bodyguard?”

“No.” Tony readies himself. This is the hard part. Only a few people in his whole life have ever known. Pepper. Rhodey, Happy, Jarvis, and of course his doctors. Some other people who have been paid handsomely for their silence. “I’m blind.”

Steve stands stock still next to Tony for a full minute before he shifts slightly away from Tony, putting his balance on his foot farthest away from him. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean?”

Tony prepared for this with Pepper. He knows that it would be shocking news. When Tony’s out in public, he’s always interacting with people and places with no sight issues whatsoever. So, he doesn’t take it as an insult. Not right away. “I’m legally blind. I have some minor sight but not much, mainly shadows and light. I was in an accident – the same accident that killed my parents when I was a teenager – that took my sight.”

“Your eyes look fine,” Steve blurts out and then stammers. Just standing close to him, Tony can feel the vibrations of actual embarrassment. “I mean-.”

“I know what you mean,” Tony says. “My eyes are actually fine. I have damage to the optical nerve. “During the crash I had a traumatic brain injury. It caused an aneurysm in my brain near the optic chasm. I was able to survive, but unfortunately, the optic nerve was permanently damaged.”

“You don’t,” Steve starts and then stops. He inhales and exhales. “Hmm, you didn’t seem blind when-.”

“No. I invented several different ways to get around my blindness. The glasses are one.” He reaches for them and can’t find them on the desktop. He waits. It’s Steve who realizes and then jumps to fetch them. He places them in Tony’s hand, gently like he thinks he might break. “Hand them to me like you would anyone. I can’t see, I don’t have Brittle Bone Disease.” He slips the glasses on. “These are my latest invention.” He can see Steve now, how he’s jittery like a frightened puppy taken away from his mother too son. “I can see everything with them. They relay the information to an implant in my brain.” He touches the back of his skull and says, “Feel it.”

Steve hesitates before he lifts his hand and follows Tony’s lead. “That?”

“Feels like a small disc, no bigger than a pea.” Tony takes his hand away as does Steve. “It’s the anchor to the actual implant in my head. It works. Most of the time. Unfortunately, it gives me killer headaches and worse.” He takes the glasses off and hands them in Steve’s direction, who takes them and lays them back in the desk. “You need to ensure you have them or I have them at all times.”

He hears the clatter and Steve picks up the glasses to place them in his shirt breast pocket. 

“Don’t worry they won’t scratch.” Tony shakes the walking stick. “This is one of my first inventions. I used it a lot in school. It can be disguised as a walking stick or a small handheld rod that looks like a cell phone charger.” He gives Dummy a quick jerk and the stick folds up to the size of a charger. “It helped me navigate the campus. As did my friends.” 

“You kept it secret? All this time?” Steve huffs out a breath like he’s not believing a word Tony is saying.

“Yes. It wasn’t easy. I finished up college and did all of my grad courses at home. Luckily, we were able to convince MIT that I was still recovering from my injuries – which I was at the time. I ended up having a lab at Stark Industries and did my doctorate work there. I was only on campus for committee meetings.” Tony explains and then waits. He can imagine Steve staring at him, gaped mouth, furrowed brows.

“It’s been years since the crash, hasn’t it?” 

“Nearly ten.”

“All this time?” Steve’s voice is hushed, awed in tone. “You’re on the news all the time. On the magazine covers. All the time.”

“Yep. I have a few loyal people around me who help. You’re in that select few now, Steve. Can you handle it?” Tony wants to move this along. He’s tired and he still needs to get Steve to understand how to walk with him, how to steer him through crowds. How to be his eyes. 

Steve stops shifting around and stands at rest – Tony assumes the parade rest again. “Yes, I can. Sir.”

“Call me Tony or this is going to get weird really fast,” Tony says. “Okay, now.”

Pepper chimes in. She clacks across the tiled floor. “First thing is you need to wear shoes that make sounds. Those will never do.” Tony stands to the side as Pepper goes through the basics. “Tony will never use the walking stick out in public. He will use the glasses, but as he said the glasses aren’t a permanent solution. You will be walking with him. He will tune to you.”

She must give Steve the small transponder that she holds in her pocket at all times. Dummy works off it as do the glasses and other devices Tony designed. 

“Put that in your pocket. It’s small enough that it shouldn’t bother you.”

“Small enough that I’ll lose it,” Steve mumbles. “Looks a lot like a dime.”

“It’s supposed to,” Tony says. “But feel it and you can tell the difference.”

Pepper giggles a bit. “It will take some practice to feel the difference. Tony’s had a lot of practice.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, and Tony hears him put it into his pocket. 

“It will ping or vibrate when Tony gets too far away from you or is veering off your chosen path,” Pepper says. “Do you want to try it out?”

“It’s kind of like that GPS thing, right?” Steve must pull out the disc again because Pepper clacks over to him and slaps it out of the air. Tony can hear the clap and the swat of air. 

“We don’t play with it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Steve sounds abashed enough that he spends the next half hour ushering Tony around the large office. It takes a few tries, but Steve is amazingly perceptive and gets the hang of it with ease. 

“Very good!” Pepper says. “Now let’s work on-.”

Tony stops her. “I think it’s time to throw him to the wolves, don’t you?” 

“Tony, he’s only had the job for a half hour. Asking him to -.”

“I know,” Tony says. “But we have the whole day to get ready for my meeting tomorrow. I think asking you to shepherd him around is just asking for trouble. He needs to learn this from me. Anyway, I’m hungry. I’m sure Jarvis has something prepared for lunch.”

“It’s early,” Pepper protests.

“There’s always chocolate cake,” Tony snickers and then taps the desktop with Dummy. “Lead the way, Steve.”

“Hmm.” Tony can feel him bristling with indecision. “I don’t-.”

“I can show you,” Tony says and snaps his fingers. “Come on, Lassie. I have things to do.”

“Hey, I’m not your seeing eye dog, you know,” Steve responds but he takes his place next to Tony’s left shoulder. 

It feels right to Tony. “Lassie wasn’t a seeing eye dog, but she was as pretty as you.” 

Steve doesn’t reply to the flirtation, but Pepper does. “Please ignore him. He flirts with everyone, including the Roomba.”

“Don’t mess with my relationship with Kevin,” Tony chides and then waits for Steve to take the lead. 

After a few seconds’ pause, he does. He walks to the door of the office, opens it and allows Tony to pass through first. Pepper instantly stops him. “That’s wrong. You need to do this the right way. If someone is blocking the door, Tony will bump right into them.”

“Okay then what do I do? Do I take his hand?” Steve asks.

Pepper comes in close to Tony; he can feel her presence and smell her perfume. It’s always a nice refreshing scent unlike some heavy fragrances. “The way to do this with someone who is visually challenged is that you need to go through the doorway first. Place your hand behind your back with palm facing outward. Most of the time the blind person will be holding on to your arm. Here.” She grips Tony’s arm above the elbow, fingers in and thumb on the outside of the arm. “Since Tony won’t do that for obvious reasons then you need to make sure he’s physically touching you. Tony’s very handsy. It’s not something you need to consider as a harassment. It helps guide him.”

Steve takes up position in front of Tony in the doorway and reaches back with a brush of his hand against Tony. With a simple touch to his wrist by Tony, Steve steps forward. He’s intuitive and makes sure to pace his gait with Tony’s own. It’s a little clunky but not bad.

“Good. We can practice more today and tonight.” 

Pepper trails behind them, but Tony turns and says to her, “I know you have a lot to do. I think we can manage.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll have Jarvis set Steve up in the suite next to yours. I also placed the phone, tablet, and computer for him in the room as well.”

“Tablet? Phone?” Steve gulps a little at the air like he can’t breathe. No one would normally hear the little spasm, but Tony does.

Tony pats Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s part of the deal.” He turns in the direction of Pepper. “Just go. Leave us boys to have some fun.”

Pepper puffs out some air and then she kisses him on the cheek. “Be gentle on him.”

“You know me too well for that,” Tony replies and then he listens as she walks away. Part of him mourns her loss as his PA. She’s been a great asset, a great friend over the years, but keeping her tied down to him really doesn’t serve her potential. She’s gone in a whisper and then Tony reverts his attention to Steve. “Shall we?”

“Okay but tell me where I’m going.” Steve hangs close to Tony as they head toward the elevator. Once again, they manage the access to the lift similar to the way they did through the doorway. It works a little smoother when Tony just uses his hand at the small of Steve’s back.

“This isn’t too forward for you?” Tony asks as they go to the penthouse floor. 

“No,” Steve says. “I mean it’s weird. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m just off my game.”

“Surprised you mean.” Tony listens to the shift of the elevator. Almost there. There’s a slight change in speed as the elevator climbs to the living floors of the Tower.

There’s a small movement, and Tony supposes Steve shrugs. “I was worried about not knowing enough about statistics and biochemistry.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, we have you covered. I have a tutor coming in this weekend to give you a crash course.” Tony waits for Steve to react but there’s only steady breathing. “You’re not surprised.”

“I’m happy about that. I just feel really out of my element here. I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mister Stark-.”

“Tony.” The worry in his voice rankles Tony. While Tony’s been able to hide his disability from most people, the few who know always have an adjustment period to get through before they settle down and deal with it. A new PA, though, is something of a new game for Tony as well. “If it makes you feel any better, Pepper’s been my PA for years. This is hard for me too.”

“Maybe you should have picked someone outside of the comic book artist skill set,” Steve says as the elevator announces the penthouse floor. He stops before he leads Tony out of the elevator. A small intake of breath and a murmured wow telegraph everything Tony needs to know.

“You like it?” Tony steps into Steve’s personal space. He can practically feel the racing of his heart. 

“It’s fantastic. It’s so much better than the outside. Outside is so ugl-.” He gulps back the rest of the word. 

Tony laughs and drags Steve into the room. “Glasses, please?” When Steve doesn’t immediately respond, Tony taps his shirt. “Glasses.”

“Oh sorry,” Steve says and hands them to Tony, placing them into his hand with some firmness. It’s better than the tender way he took them, but it needs work. It will all need work, but he has a meeting tomorrow and they need to get over the kinks today.

Tony puts the glasses on and activates them. The room resolves around him. Steve’s nearly drunken gaze at the floor to ceiling windows in the lounge is heart stopping, and gut wrenching because it tells Tony just how much he’s missing of the Adonis. Maybe he should have gotten someone like Mrs. Doubtfire instead. “I like it. Plus, the whole penthouse floor as well as my office floors are tuned into the implant I have. It feeds me information most of the time and I’m able to get around without much help. It does have its drawbacks because it causes more headaches since it does access the implant.”

“Most of the time?” Steve asks but his gaze is drawn to the windows. For a second, Tony wishes he could be the object of so much intensity, so much concentration. But it’s never to be. While Tony might look like the playboy to the outside world, he leaves them fairly quickly. He doesn’t want his façade to ever break down in front of the press or anyone else. 

“The implant has been giving me trouble. A lot of trouble actually.” Tony puts his hands in his pockets. Maybe it is a subconscious thing or maybe he does it willingly, but it sure does symbolize how very frustrated he’s been with his inability to remedy the issue. If he could change it, if he could take away some of the side effects then he could change the world for himself and for other visually impaired people. “My neurosurgeon was none too happy when I asked him to place the implant. It’s a prototype and needs a lot of work.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he tears his focus away from the metal and steel scraped sky beyond the windows. “That’s what you need me for. You need someone-.”

“To be my hands and my eyes. I need someone to help me draft the new implant and the new phase of the glasses. I have to have everything ready in less than three months.” Tony moves through the lounge, the data streaming through the glasses navigates for him and he follows. The delay is minor, and he’s learned to move in certain ways and at a certain pace not to be hindered by delays or glitches. “Drink?”

Steve grunts out a no but follows Tony through the mammoth archway to the kitchen which is all kinds of updated and modern. He doesn’t care who says what – the red appliances are beautiful – even if he can barely make out the colors. “Color is the hardest thing to initialize and code.”

“Color?” Steve asks as an older gentleman joins them in the kitchen. 

Tony points to Steve. “Jarvis this is Steve Rogers my new PA. Steve this is Edwin Jarvis my butler and all around good guy.”

Steve bends over the island counter and shakes Jarvis’ hand. “It’s good to meet you, sir.”

“Oh no, I’m not sir here.” Jarvis looks over at Tony. There’s a kindness in his demeanor and Tony knows, from long ago experience, that his eyes are soft and tender as if he looked upon his own child in pride. 

“Jarvis has been around forever and continually pranks me with Sir or Master all the time.” Tony slips onto one of the stools at the island. “What’s for lunch?”

Jarvis smiles at him. “Looks like falafel wraps. I hope you like it. I’ve just tried out a new recipe Ana and I encountered on our latest trip to Morocco.”

Tony leans toward Steve. “Ana is Jarvis’ one and only. They love to travel so sometimes you’ll need to fill in for him. Not with the cooking and all, but with other duties.”

“I saw – in the contract,” Steve says, and he follows suit to sit on the stool as Jarvis. “There shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jarvis plates the wraps and adds French Fries which are obviously not Moroccan but Tony loves fries and eats them whenever he can. Jarvis has a tendency to give in to some of Tony’s lesser bad habits. “And now, sir, I will retire for bit. Ana needs to go to a doctor’s appointment, and I would like to take her.”

“Sure thing. Nothing serious?” Tony asks and Jarvis pats his hand as if he’s a favored child.

“No. Just routine.”

When Jarvis is out of earshot, Tony frowns. “He’s lying. He always lies to me. Ana is sick and he hasn’t told me yet.”

Steve spins on his stool and leans back to see if he can catch sight of Jarvis. “How do you know? Is that one of -.” He stops. “How can you tell?”

Tony chuckles and shakes his head. “No, it’s not a super secret thing blind people can do. I know Jarvis and I do my homework. I’ll make sure she’s referred to all of the right specialists.”

“You spy on her. That’s a violation of their privacy!” Steve doesn’t touch the lunch and Tony worries if he’s just easily blown the only good candidate he’s had for the PA position. 

Tony decides that honesty is the best policy. “Yes, I did. And I would do it again. Jarvis and Ana are like surrogate parents to me. Without them, I don’t know where I would be, what I would have become.” Tony takes a mouthful of the wrap. Jarvis surely does make the best falafel around. He chews as he considers and then once he swallows adds, “I was a loser without them. I drank myself to nearly death. Stane, the guy who used to run the company for me, tried to get me killed. Jarvis and another man, Yinsen, saved me in more ways than I want to count. Obie would have succeeded if they hadn’t stepped in when they did. Neither of them knew the other, but they both helped. So did Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey.

“You met Pepper and Jarvis. You’ll meet Happy and Rhodey as well. Yinsen’s gone, but I survived because of them. I owe them everything.”

Steve bows his head and presses his lips together in a tight line. After a moment he nods. “Yeah I get it. I understand. I owe a lot to my friends. My Ma died when I was in college and I didn’t have much. No one tried to kill me – well, not outside the Army anyhow. But they’ve been there for me. All the way.”

Before Tony can respond, a pain like a bullet through the brain hits him hard and he hisses. Dropping his wrap, he cups his face in his hand and tears the glasses off. He hears the clatter of a dish and Steve is standing next to him. 

“What’s wrong? What can I do?”

“Pain. The glasses. I need to-.” He tries to open his eyes, but the flashes of light are blinding. It’s a feedback from the implant for sure. Tears stream down his face and he blinks repeatedly.

“How about you sit down back in the living room, and I get you a compress?” Steve says. “Warm compresses always helped my Ma when she had migraines.” 

Tony feels a gentle press on the small of his back and a touch to his arm. He hops off of the stool, but it just jolts his head and he moans in response. Steve waits for Tony, standing directly next to him. Feeling for his arm, Tony grasps it right above Steve’s elbow. 

“Okay?” Steve asks.

“Hmm. The room’s interface with the implant needs to be turned off. It’s by the fireplace,” Tony doesn’t want to talk right now. It just jogs his head more. At a slow pace Steve leads them back into the living room, telling Tony to step down into the lounge area.

“Two steps now. One, two.” Steve brings him around and then positions him next to the recliner. Tony can tell because it faces away from the windows. He can’t feel the heat of the sun through the glass on his face. “Sit,” Steve directs. “I’ll get the interface turned off.”

Tony settles into the chair, leaning back but Steve is the one to trigger the mechanism to help him recline. “Thanks.” Tony thinks he might say it out loud but when he gets these types of headaches it’s nearly impossible to tell. His hearing roars in his head and he feels like every nerve in his body tingles. 

“Wait here.” 

Tony doesn’t say he’s incapable of moving at the moment. Steve doesn’t need to know that right now. Being blind isn’t the worst of it. It’s the headaches and the pain. He can deal with blindness (no, no he can’t). What he fails at is handling the pain. His medical staff, including Doctor Strange, figures that the implant exacerbates the lasting effects of the TBI and if he would have it removed, then he would be nearly free of the pain. But that would mean living a life without sight. How can an engineer do that? How can he fucking give up his sight? He did that for the first few years until he started to wear a rudimentary transmitter (it looked like an earbud) and carried Dummy around. Dummy worked, but not like the glasses do. The glasses were a huge leap forward. Combining the technology of electronic photography, virtual reality, and bionanomaterials brought Tony closer to real sight. He knows it’s not the real thing, he knows part of what he picks up with the implant is literally configured by the nano-core in the glasses. Sometimes the backgrounds of offices or open spaces fuzz out and turn into what Tony can only describe as CGI of a video game. Most of the time it works – it works well enough for up close and personal. He can’t drive, but he can interact with people. He can still design and discover. He can do his damned job. He can be Tony Stark.

“I have a warm compress.” Steve’s voice startles him. “I’m sorry I should have announced I was here. I’ll be more careful about that in the future.” He comes closer; Tony can smell the scent of his shampoo and soap. It’s mild and relaxing. It reminds Tony of summer. “I’m going to put this on your eyes and forehead.”

“Okay,” Tony says. He closes his eyes.

Steve gently places the warmed towel. “Is there any medication that you use?”

“Marijuana but I don’t think that’s a good idea to smoke the first day with my PA.” Tony smiles at the little hiccup noises that Steve makes. “Don’t worry. I only use weed when it gets very bad and I have a script for it. Plus, I’m on the wagon and that will just tip over the cart completely.” The warmth on his face lulls him and he yawns. He shouldn’t be tired; he didn’t burn the midnight oil last night. Or this morning. “Can’t remember how much I slept last night. Tired.” The room’s interface has been shut off. The isolation is astounding.

“Hmm,” Steve says and then there’s the scrape of metal against the tiled floor. 

“What?” Tony starts but then he feels a difference in air pressure around him.

“I just pulled up a chair. I wanted to try something I used to do for my Ma when she had her bad headaches, if it’s okay?” Steve asks.

Tony gestures into the air. “Sure, knock yourself out. Unless you’re planning on kissing me which you haven’t even bought me dinner yet – so that would be a no.”

A little chuckle of air and Tony feels the rustle of Steve shaking his head. “Nope. That’s not it. Just relax. I’m going to touch you now, mainly your head and temples. Maybe a little of your shoulders and neck.”

Tony adjusts the way he’s positioned on the recliner. “Okay.” He’s dubious about this working after all if the implant is malfunctioning nothing that Steve’s going to do should really work for much relief.

Lightly, Steve strokes his hands through Tony’s hair. Using both of his hands, his fingers trail over and over again through Tony’s hair. He rubs with the softest of touches as he massages Tony’s scalp and then places fingers at Tony’s temples and under his eyes. 

“Hmm, that’s nice.” It feels a little intoxicating, as if he’s floating in a quiet pool. “Where’d you learn to do this.” His voice feels very far away.

“Just instinct and what Ma needed,” Steve whispers. “Just relax. It’s sometimes nice to have music playing in the background. But this works too.”

Experiencing Steve’s fingers stroking through his hair, over his head, down around his shoulders and neck and then up to his eyes and temples calms Tony. He drifts into the memories that his mind has created for him – memories that don’t exist, but he’s constructed over the years of sightlessness. A cabin on a still lake. It’s the autumn of the year and the leaves are fiery in color, yet the birds and the insects are quiet. He watches a single leaf fall from the tree and then touch the glassine surface of the lake like a kiss. It’s all perfect as long as he never opens his eyes.

As long as he forgets to remember the true memories and stays secure at the cabin on the lake.


	4. Chapter 4

The week isn’t easy. In fact, Steve likens it to battle. He barely gets through the first big test and that’s not even the meeting on Friday. It’s the assignment of his suite of rooms in the Tower. He has a suite – or rooms. The whole thing is bigger than his attic apartment. Way bigger. He’s overwhelmed at first and he stands at the door to the room in absolute silence. Jarvis talks to him about the lounge area, the small butler’s pantry and kitchenette as well as a bedroom with ensuite. Steve stays frozen at the door, gazing at the fireplace with its floor to ceiling stonework. He’s never had a fireplace in his entire life. 

Jarvis notices that he’s not moving, not following him through the tour of the rooms. He comes back to Steve and considers him. His talk lanky form like a stick in the light of the expansive windows of the lounge. Mindlessly, Steve wonders if there are huge windows in the bedroom. He’ll never be able to get to sleep with all that light. He needs darkness. Absolute darkness. When he turns from the fireplace and focuses on Jarvis, the butler bows his head a little and clears his throat. Steve expects him to continue the tour.

He does not.

“I’d like to have a word with you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve blinks once, then twice. He doesn’t think this is part of the tour. He thinks maybe his ride might have derailed and he’s spiraling out of control about to crash to the ground. The way Jarvis glares at him is anything but kind. “Yes?”

“Master Tony has been my charge since he was born. My wife and I have nearly raised him as our own. His parents were very busy, and we were more than happy to step into the roles.”

Steve stays completely still. The air pulses around him; it feels like something imminent is going to happen like the air is charged and a lightning bolt might strike him. He doesn’t interrupt.

“Since Master Tony’s parents died, it has been my task to help him in his life. The first few years were difficult for him. He has never accepted his blindness. He won’t.” Jarvis looks disgruntled, frustrated as if he’s remembering something. Maybe at one time Jarvis tried to help Tony find his way to acknowledging his disability and moving his life forward by accepting his new normal. “For him it is a challenge, a mental challenge to overcome. He invented ways to hide it and conceal it. While I might not agree with his approach, I have pledged to always support him.”

Steve nods. Mainly because he doesn’t know what else to do. Why is Jarvis telling him this? He’s a stranger in the house and he’s just started the job not more than 4 hours ago. “Okay?”

“Yes, then. Okay.” Jarvis studies him like he’s a pinned insect under a dissecting microscope. “You see, Captain Rogers, you must pledge the same.” He waves away Steve’s response. “Yes, yes. He had you sign a non-disclosure form. He had you go ahead and sign the contract. But you must know the enormity of what’s happened. Master Tony doesn’t allow anyone to know of his state. Not for years.”

“I’m appreciative of his trust-.” Steve starts to say, hand on his chest.

“You must be more than appreciative. You must commit.” Jarvis is a tall man. He’s doesn’t have the bulk of muscles that Steve has, but he possesses the height and a certain protective mode that can only be likened to an animal protecting its cub. “It has been years since sir has opened up and revealed his state to anyone. He lives a very secure life. He might look like the partier. He may flash smiles at the paparazzi. But that is all superficial. Master Tony is not made of iron, Captain Rogers.”

“You can trust me,” Steve says but it doesn’t alleviate the tension in the room. 

“Trust you? I don’t even know you.” Jarvis huffs. “The only reason I am even talking to you and telling you anything is that you’ve signed the non-disclosure. You can’t legally say anything. But know this, Captain Rogers.” Jarvis leans in. He shadows the windows to the outside. “Master Tony’s put his trust in you. If you break that trust, then it will be me you answer to. I will ensure that you will be very miserable, Captain Rogers, for the rest of your days.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says. He can’t believe he’s allowing a butler to intimidate him. He was a Captain in the Army; he went to war. He’s smelled the tang of blood in the air, the acrid odor of fear, and the horrid stench of bodies blown apart. Still, this thin rail of a man manages to intimidate Steve. It’s probably his devotion to Stark – that must be it. 

“See to it that you heed my words,” Jarvis says. He gestures to the rooms that will become Steve’s suite. “I’m sure you will find your way around. Dinner is at 7. Do not be late.”

After that evening and the ensuing meeting that Steve nearly flubbed his role, things started to settle down. Tony had flown in some tutors for Steve. He took a crash course in the basics of biochemistry, physiology, and statistics. The tutor was a little over the top eccentric. She is bald, wears robes, and likes to have Steve call her Ancient. It’s weird. He’s not sure he gets a lot out of the lessons and he feels like a complete idiot and stupid to boot. So the first week goes about as he expected for someone not qualified for the job. 

He spends most of the first week terrified he’s going to get fired. To mitigate his fears, Steve overcompensates. He watches countless videos online about helping blind and low vision people. None of the videos actually give him a clue how to deal with someone who hasn’t accepted his state after nearly ten years. None of the videos actually tell him how to ensure that Tony’s secret is safe. If he realizes anything, Steve realizes this little fact. So, when he’s not searching the internet for the latest information on leading blind people – (the blind leading the blind keeps playing on repeat in his head and he’s sure that’s not a nice thing at all) then he is trying desperately to study and fill up his brain as quickly as possible, or he’s working on the comic book panels for Asgardian Comics because he knows in the end that he will get fired and he needs to make his rent for next month. Giving up his apartment is a no go. He has to keep it; he’ll never find anything as cheap as it is again – well not one that isn’t rat infested. 

Steve doesn’t know when he became so practical as well as so very desperate in his own abilities. He keeps thinking he’s going to fail at this endeavor. But if he does, he’ll bring Tony down with him and that’s just unacceptable. He doesn’t sleep much the first week. It’s too overpowering, the anxiety that he’s not fit for the job. He needs to study as much as possible, he needs to watch all the videos online. He needs to finish the panels for Jane and Thor otherwise he’ll have nothing to fall back on. 

It’s exactly a week later when Tony announces that he needs to go to the doctor and that Steve has to assist him. Jarvis glares at Steve over the breakfast of croissant egg sandwiches he’s made (Steve hasn’t eaten this good since his mother died). 

“We need to go to my doctor’s. He’s not far. I actually see him in his private offices, not at the hospital that he’s an attending,” Tony says. Steve set up his plate today and set his coffee exactly where he likes it – at one o’clock on the table next to his plate. The bowl of fruit that Tony likes to eat every morning (with blueberries in it always) is at ten o’clock. The croissant egg sandwich is in the middle of his plate. Jarvis preps his coffee.

“No cream this morning, sir?” Jarvis says.

“Right no cream.” He’s not wearing the glasses and, for some reason that Steve thinks is incredibly rude, Steve can’t take his eyes off Tony’s eyes. The eyes are sightless but seeking. It’s the only way that Steve can describe it. 

Steve eats but checks out Jarvis. The man literally hates him. He points to the creamer. “May I have some cream for my coffee?” 

Jarvis glowers at him but passes the creamer over to him. “Of course.” He doesn’t serve Steve. Which is okay with him, he just wants the man not to look at him with such livid hostility.

“Jarvis,” Tony says. “Stop. Steve signed the Non-D. There’s no reason for this.”

Sixth sense creeps Steve out sometime. He rushes as he says, “There isn’t a problem, Tony. Jarvis is just looking out for you.”

“Jarvis is playing mother hen mixed with a mafia godfather.” Tony manages a distinct glare of his own at his butler. Jarvis just waves it off and excuses himself. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s a little touchy over this. We have to broaden my circle of people who know. He agrees he’s just -.”

“Protective,” Steve says. “It’s not a problem. I understand.” While it might freak Steve out a little when he finds little notes in his laundry concerning his care and treatment of Tony, he can understand the loyalty his friends and family have for him. Steve finds Tony fascinating. 

“Well, it’s problem for me.” Tony stands as he speaking. Without assistance, he rounds the island that they are sitting at and then goes to the refrigerator. “Jarvis has all of his own ideas about how I should be living my life. He doesn’t like the fact that I’ve hidden my predicament from the world, but he supports it.” He opens the fridge, and very briefly, Steve wonders if he should get up and help Tony find whatever he’s looking for. But Jarvis organizes his kitchen well and Tony grabs the spray can of whip cream. “He never lets me have whip topping on my fruit. He’s so old fashioned.”

“He’s trying to keep you healthy,” Steve replies.

“You’re old fashioned, too.” Tony easily walks back to the stool and settles on it. He douses the fruit with a heaping topping of the whip cream and then proceeds to spray it directly into his mouth. He slams the spray can onto the countertop and smirks at Steve. “Want some?”

“No. No, thank you.” Steve can just imagine the mess that would make. He waves Tony off and then realizes he can’t see him. “Just no.”

Tony snickers a little. “Everyone knows what you’re thinking. The blind guy can’t hit my mouth.”

“Everyone knows the blind guy is acting like a child,” Steve retorts and then cringes. When is he going to learn to watch his mouth.

Instead of getting testy about it though, Tony just grins. “Child it is.” He sprays more of the whip topping into his mouth. “Your loss.” Most of the topping spills out of his mouth as he speaks. He laughs and then wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. Steve never had cloth napkins when he was growing up.

Tony digs into his fruit, ignoring the egg sandwich. “Jarvis wants me to come out to the world. No, thank you. I already saw what happened when I came out as gay to the world. My stocks dropped and a bunch of companies stopped buying my merchandise. Which – yeah go fuck yourself – but that was a hard hit to take.”

“You think it would be that bad?” Steve asks as he finishes his croissant. 

“Would you trust a blind guy to design and build your latest smart phone tech?” Tony shrugs. “Or your tech that goes to make a green car, or a green building. No. No one would.”

“I’m not so sure. People do amazing things every day.”

“You are a strange one,” Tony mutters. 

They eat in silence for a while. Every now and again, Steve instructs Tony where something is on the counter or reaches over and places it near him hand so he can find it easily. He still can’t determine how he would deal with this when they have to go out to a dinner. How is Tony going to force the host or hostess to include his PA at the table?

Steve drinks his coffee and then asks, “So, how did you manage? I know you said before, but I still can’t believe it. I mean it’s been nearly 10 years, right? No one knows.”

“Not a lot of people know. That’s correct,” Tony says. He wipes his hands on his napkin again and easily reaches for his cup of coffee. “The first few years were the easiest in some regards because I was young and outside the spotlight. I was still in school, and I had a TBI – traumatic brain injury – and so I was able to work from my home, doing most of my studies at the Stark Mansion. I had to go in for certain things, but there were deals made and people paid generously and non-disclosures signed.”

“It never leaked?”

“It did, almost. Once.” Tony huffs a little. “Maybe the reason that one reporter is always on my ass about it, still.”

Steve stands up and starts to clear the table. He tries to sound casual about his query but doesn’t think he pulls it off at all. “When it almost leaked what did you do?”

Tony follows Steve picking plates and stacking them. “Oh it wasn’t a great situation at all. Friends for a while, then said friend does you wrong and decides to out you to the world. There’s conspiracy theories now still to this day because of it.”

“So a friend outed you?” Steve opens the dishwasher and rinses the plates. Maybe helping out in the kitchen will win him points with Jarvis.

“Yeah. Ty is a dick. Luckily at about that time I happened to have the first version of the glasses. There wasn’t an implant and they worked like shit, but I was able to show the world I could still see.” He hands a plate in Steve’s generally direction. “It worked.”

Grabbing the plate, Steve watches, fascinated by the dexterity and confidence Tony shows as he works to help clean up the kitchen and breakfast dishes. “Well, you do a good job even without the glasses. I’m not surprised you could fool someone.”

Tony frowns at him as if he’s said something wrong. Overstepping his boundaries seems to be a hobby of Steve’s – anyone in the Army could attest to that, especially his CO. He stays quiet as Tony shuffles about the room, putting things in their proper place. 

As Steve finishes loading the dishwasher he says in a low voice, “I mean no disrespect, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t turn toward him which is odd because Steve found he has an innate ability to hone right the center of conversation without any assistance at all. He sighs audibly and Steve thinks it’s for his benefit. “I know. It’s been a long time since someone new learned I’m blind. It takes adjusting to – that’s all.”

Steve stops what he’s doing and focuses on Tony. “What did I say wrong?”

Tony hums a little tune to himself and shakes his head. “No need to dwell. It doesn’t matter. We go to see Strange today.”

“Strange?” Steve decides not to press the point and closes the dishwasher. He knows that Strange is Tony’s doctor, but he wants to get over the awkwardness of the moment. That’s right, he thinks, feign being an idiot as his assistant that will secure the position.

“My doctor, neurologist really. He’s going to check the implant. I want to do some upgrades so I need his input.” Tony goes back to his seat at the island, sliding onto the stool.

“He knows you’re blind, right?” Going for the stupid smart remark to impress the boss Steve cringes again. He’s going to get fired. 

“No, my neurologist doesn’t have a clue. He’s that good of a doctor,” Tony snaps back and then stops. He screws up his mouth. “You’re joking. You were very tricky, you made sure not to put a sarcastic tone in your voice. The great American war hero, Captain Rogers is a bit of a shithead.”

Steve chuckles as he folds the dish towel and the picks up the pot of coffee, refilling Tony’s mug for him. “A little. My mother used to be exasperated a lot.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks and his eyes get a dreamy look. He jerks away from his thoughts and then points to where Steve left the folded towel on the opposite counter. “Jarvis hates when people fold a wet towel. Put it in the laundry bin or hang it up.”

Steve startles. “How the hell-.” He gulps in the last of the sentence, not wanting to be rude. “Sorry, sorry, Mister Stark.” His heart’s in his throat and he swallows a few times.

Tony sips the coffee, blanches at it, and then, as he stands, says, “I’m wily. Have to be sharp around me to fool me. And that coffee is terrible. Dump it.”

Steve stares at the pot and then back at Tony. Bewilderment is not an emotion Steve is familiar with. “Hmm, okay?”

Tony puts on his regular non-enhancement pair of sunglasses. “I’m going to my lab. Be ready by ten. See you around Steve.”

He disappears through the archway to the main living room of the penthouse. Steve watches him, unsettled and intrigued. Tony is more than just a man, he’s more than a blind man. Steve shoves away his circling thoughts, he could go down with them, sinking further down like a whirlpool infinitely spinning. He picks up the towel and tosses it in the laundry bin in the room adjacent to the kitchen. He checks the time; he has about an hour before he needs to get Tony for the Strange visit. 

The tutor that Tony assigned Steve gave him piles of readings to do – none of them are technical. Most of the books are popular science that can be found in any upscale bookstore or online. Still, it takes a lot to read them and comprehend everything. Spending time studying is high on his priorities, but Steve’s curious about Tony’s work. It’s something that Steve is supposed to help him with, so he wonders down to the laboratory. When Steve arrives at the laboratory, he stares through the glass doors to see Tony in the center of the room. 

The lab itself is huge, probably more than half of the floor. Equipment and computers form a maze. Steve has no idea how Tony remembers were everything is or how he gets around. It’s confusing and exhilarating. Standing in the center of it, Tony holds up his hands seemingly tapping the air. Steve peers closer, not sure what he’s witnessing then he understands – partially.

Tony’s wearing gloves. He’s also wearing a set of goggles. His hands fly in the air as if he’s playing a piano directly in front of him. He turns and spins as he works. What he’s ‘seeing’ Steve hasn’t a clue. It looks like he’s directing an orchestra or dancing – dancing to silent music. Tony’s wearing a dark muscle shirt and a pair of tight jeans that sculpt to his body. The curvature of muscles and tendons line his arms making the movements all the more graceful and powerful. The black jeans he wears hugs his body close and Steve finds he cannot drag his focus away from Tony’s body, a strength mixed with elegance. He licks his lips and then realizes what he’s doing.

“What the fuck,” he mutters.

Tony abruptly stops and drops his hands. The glass door in front of Steve clicks to unlock and then automatically swings open. He tears off the goggles. “What the hell, Steve. I told you I would see you at ten. It isn’t ten yet. What’s the problem? What do you need?”

“I just.” Steve searches for the right words, but nothing comes to mind. “I just-.”

“You’re not allowed in the laboratory unless I specifically request your presence. Do you get it?” Tony says. He shudders as he speaks as if Steve’s trespassed into his most personal space. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll go.” Steve backpedals but then Tony calls out to him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry. You startled me. I usually don’t have to worry about sighted people in my space. It’s uncomfortable for me,” Tony says. He yanks off the gloves. “I know that sounds weird, especially since I hired you to help me with my work. I planned on having you work on the other side of the lab, not here. This is my space.”

Steve nods and then rolls his eyes – when is he going to learn. “Okay, sorry. I understand. I’ll go back to my room and work on my studies.”

Before Steve can turn around, Tony waves him back. “Do you want to see your drafting table and lab bench?”

“Yeah!” That was way too enthusiastic, Steve chides himself. “Sure, I’d love that.” He frowns that really didn’t lower the outrageous amount of excitement in his voice. He’s never had a whole room for himself for art in his life. 

Tony gestures for him to follow and Steve takes his place along his side. The walking stick, Dummy, comes out and Tony taps his way to the room. He grips Steve’s upper arm and they weave their way through the maze. He’s unsure how Tony would ever find his way around the mess. Tony reads his mind.

“I have sensors in the room. It connects with the implant in my head via Bluetooth believe it or not and helps me. Just using Dummy here to get into your space. I didn’t add sensors in there.” Tony grins and gives a slight squeeze to Steve’s upper arm. It’s nice.

“I can’t imagine how you did all of this,” Steve glances around the room but he’s too late, Tony steers him a door notched in the corner of the laboratory. 

“Right here. I wanted you to be close in case I need you, plus we will have to work together on the technical drafts.” Tony places his whole hand on a reader plate that’s embedded on the center of the door. He nods to Steve. “Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Steve follows him and does the same with his hand. The door unlocks. 

When it opens the burst of light is the first thing Steve takes in. He gasps a little. The corner art room is lined with windows. All the natural light he could ever ask for and more. It’s absolutely beautiful. “Wow, I just-.” He can’t speak.

There’s a drafting table and a cart with supplies next to it. The wall that’s shared with the lab has shelving that’s filled with every art supply or tool in any catalogue. On the other side of the door, the wall has the digital art set up. It’s so much more than Steve has ever had. There’s even a small room to the side with a sink to clean brushes. When Steve ventures inside he finds another room – a small bathroom with a sink, toilet, and shower. He can’t believe the finishes – all metal and marble. It’s a weird combination but somehow works. When he steps back into the main art room, Tony’s leaning against the door.

“You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s wonderful. How did you? I mean how did you manage?” Steve asks. He has to get it out of his head that visually impaired people can’t do things he can – they just do things different. They accommodate and compensate in different ways. 

“I have my ways. But mostly Happy helped out a lot. He likes to do things for me. He’s my driver and Head of Stark Industries security. He spent a lot of time working on this for me. But now you’re here.” He drops off and doesn’t add - _it’s your responsibility now._

Steve nods and catches himself. “Thank you, Tony. This is great. I do want to ask.” He stumbles over the next part, but he needs to figure out how he’s going to assist Tony in the technical aspects of his job. “How are the drawings going to help you.”

Tony puts his weight on both feet and stands up. “Because I can’t see right?” Tony points to the digital art set up. “You’ll digitize everything. You can draft and sketch to your heart’s content on the table, but you’ll need to digitalize it. Then my computer set up, called Friday, will transfer those images to the set up you saw me using in the main lab. I can manipulate it and change it, revise it to what I need. Then you need to make the changes so that we can fabricate it.”

“Friday?”

Tony laughs. “Yeah. Friday, why don’t you introduce yourself.”

“Good morning, Captain Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.”

Steve jumps a little and then looks up at the ceiling. “What?”

“Friday is in all of the sensors in this room. Friday is my attempt at an artificial intelligence to help me. Pretty good, huh? Just in the lab and the art room, but coming along, don’t you think? Also, on my phone.” Tony smiles. It’s brilliant as the day. In the sunlight of the art room, his hair shines with chestnut highlights. His smile radiates both calm understanding and wicked intelligence. Steve licks his lips and turns away.

“Boss, Captain Rogers’ heart is accelerating. He might be having a panic attack or have an undiagnosed heart condition,” Friday reports.

Steve makes a little noise of surprise and then waves away the comment. “No. No, just excited about the room and a little startled by, you know, the lady in the ceiling.”

Tony barks out a laugh and slaps his thigh. “Lady in the ceiling. Friday did you hear that?”

“Yes, boss, and I think I like Captain Rogers.”

Tony snorts out another bout of laughter and then, turning, waves behind his head. “I’ll see you at 10, Rogers.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony leaves and the door partially closes. Steve ignores it, ignores everything except the view from the art room. _His_ art room. He steps over to the windows and looks out over the Manhattan skyline. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine being able to have a studio like this one. Sure, it’s small, compact, but it has the most wonderful natural lighting he could ever ask for outside of being _outside_. Maybe his luck is changing. He scans the cityscape; it’s hard on the eyes, the glare and glint of metal and steel. It sets his heart fluttering rapidly. He gulps a few times and then smiles. How can this all be his? He presses a hand to the window.

“Captain Rogers?”

The words startle him, but he doesn’t jump as much as the first time. “Yes, Fri-Friday?” That was the AI’s name, right? Everything is bundled up, a mess in his head. 

“It would be prudent to get ready. It is 9:45 am.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He turns to leave, but then he asks, “So Friday, you’ll be here for anything I need?”

“Within my parameters, yes. I have a visual interface through the digital art set up. I am functional within the laboratory, the art room, and Mister Stark’s lab office. I am not functional throughout the building, the living space, or Mister Stark’s regular business office. I do maintain some of the building’s facilities though.”

Well, that is actually more information then Steve actually needs, but still he says, “Thanks, Friday.” He checks his watch and agrees with the lady in the ceiling. He needs to hustle to get changed and ready for the appointment. 

By the time they arrive in Greenwich village and get out of the car in front of 177A Bleecker Street, it is nearly 11. Tony’s appointment is at 11, so Steve waves goodbye to Happy and navigates Tony into the large building that looks a little like a wizard’s hideout. During the past week, Tony fitted Steve with an earbud that looks similar to something someone talking on the phone would have. It makes it easier for Steve to speak to Tony and give him directions without directly guiding him. It also makes it look like Steve is perpetually on the phone. 

Steve opens the door and Tony, with glasses on, steps through. Inside the place looks even more gothic and medieval all rolled into one. What is a doctor of neurology doing with knight armor or other medieval and ancient instruments of torture? The grand staircase leads to a massive window, but Steve directs Tony to the left and toward the offices. A small plaque indicates the main offices and Steve follows it. 

Once through those massively thick and ornately carved doors, Steve finds a waiting room with plush leather chairs and a few dark wood tables. There aren’t any magazines to read but a few textbooks on neurology and other biomedical sciences are on display. Steve wonders if the good doctor expects them to want to sit and wait and read graduate level textbooks. He frowns but then a woman appears from a side door and ushers them to an examining room. He has no idea how she knew they were there and then spies the small cameras embedded in the walls. The place is creepier than he assumed. 

When they’re finally escorted to an examining room, Steve breathes a sigh of relief. It’s a normal doctor’s office with normal equipment and examining table. All the right stuff. Steve lets out a sigh and Tony snickers as the nurse takes his vitals. When she leaves, Tony glances at Steve through his special glasses. “So, the place freaks you out?”

“A little. I mean the lobby is like a medieval torture chamber.” 

“Well some of that stuff that’s in the display cases are actually medical equipment through the ages. Technically it is kind of a torture chamber,” Tony says. 

“That’s unsettling and disturbing.” Steve sits down in the companion chair next to Tony. “What’s my role here?”

“Just sit and learn.”

“I can do that.” He glances around the room. There’s the obligatory eye chart, a number of instruments that Steve can’t identify as well as a number of posters detailing the anatomy of the eye and the brain. He has a pretty tough resolve, but he never liked looking at anatomically correct drawings that have the organs dissected open. 

After a very short wait, a tall, angular and peculiar man enters the room. He has a stern but fierce look on his face and studies both of them before greeting them, “Tony, how are you today?”

“Great Stephen, how’s the work with Wong?” It takes a moment before Steve realizes that Strange’s first name must be Stephen too. He suspects it’s with a ‘ph’ instead of a ‘v’. 

“Good, we are making fantastic strides.” The doctor eyes Steve and then turns back to Tony. “I take it your companion knows?”

“Yes. Sorry,” Tony says and shakes himself as if he’s just waking. “Sorry again. Doctor Stephen Strange please meet my personal assistant, Captain Steve Rogers.”

Steve stands up and says, “Not a Captain anymore.” He offers his hand. Strange takes it and gives him a firm shake. “Just Steve is fine. Please to meet you Doctor Strange.”

“It’s nice that Tony’s broadened his circle of ‘in the know’ friends,” Strange says and then pats the examining table. “Hop up, Tony.”

Tony scowls but follows the doctor’s orders. Steve watches and tries to be dispassionate and disconnected but he fails miserably in the first seconds as Strange removes Tony’s glasses. He hands them back to Steve who has to jump up and take them from the doctor. Tony sits, his body tightly closed, curled over itself. His shoulders hunch forward and he crosses his legs at the ankles. 

Strange brings one of the apparatuses over to sit in front of Tony. He has Tony place his chin in the small plastic cupped shelf and then sits on the others side. “Please, Personal Assistant, turn off the lights.”

Steve frowns – the man couldn’t have forgotten his name since they have the same first name. He does as directed and huffs a little to show his discontentment. Even in the low lighting, Steve catches a small glimmer of a smile on Tony’s lips, but it quickly dissipates as Strange leans in to check his eyes. Several minutes go by with Strange mumbling to himself. At first, Steve thought he was saying something to them but then quickly realized that the doctor has weird habits. Once he’s finished, he pushes the equipment aside and nods to Steve, who flicks on the lights. 

Steve blinks a few times, Tony doesn’t react. Strange continues with the exam. “How are the headaches?”

“Great. Lovely. Mind blowing.”

Strange glares at him, but then says, “That bad.”

“Getting worse. I can only wear the glasses for about 4 hours.” Steve’s surprised that Tony admitted that little factoid so easily. “I really need you to upgrade the implant. Steve and I are-.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Tony.” Strange goes to the counter where there’s a computer set up and he starts to type in his password. “Your latest scan shows considerable inflammation in the area. You’re playing with fire. I can’t ethically do this-.”

Tony turns almost instinctually toward Strange. His expression is desperate, a dying man looking for a last sip of water. “I’m upgrading the implant. It shouldn’t be a problem with the immune system.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem now, but it is.” Strange pulls up images on the computer. Steve has no idea what he’s looking at as the doctor changes the views. “If we go in again, I’m worried we’ll do significant damage to the surrounding tissue. This is your brain, Tony. This isn’t some game. We’re not playing Operation.”

“You’re showing your age, Strange in front of the kid.” Tony digs his phone out of his pocket, presses the home button, and says, “Friday display new implant schematics.”

A bright holographic image appears above the phone surface. The schematic is rudimentary and obviously generated by Friday with a skillset learned from the internet. It’s good – no doubt about it – but it lacks finesse. Steve understands why Tony brought him in on the project. It needs refinement. Tony waves in the general direction of the interface. “I think I can upgrade it so that the region of the brain isn’t compromised. All you would have to do is place it sub-.”

“I’m not going to place anything, Tony. You don’t seem to comprehend the risks you’re taking. The implant you have now is being rejected. While we are on ground not a lot of researchers have tread, I fear that if we go further you may suffer injury.” As Strange talks he spends time testing Tony’s reflexes as well as instructing him through a series of cognitive skills tests. 

“You can’t do this to me. I need to upgrade the implant. If I don’t-.” Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is important research, Strange.” He opens his eyes. There’s a coldness to his expression now as if he’s steeling himself to fight the doctor and the rest of the world. “I’m not going to give up what I have.”

“I understand, but would you consider a different way?” Strange stops his examination. “I have a proposal for you.”

“If it’s some crazy ass idea that I give up on my sight you can forget it. You might think I’m not accepting of my situation-.”

Strange interrupts again. “It’s clear to me and to your therapists that you never moved beyond denial, Tony. Well.” He stops and does a little bob of his head as if to concede the point. “You probably hit anger a few times. But you’ve never truly accepted your situation.”

“Why should I?” Tony grapples with the argument. Steve witnesses as he goes from cold stone where he’s unwilling to move to raging fire where he’ll fight with his last breath. “You have sight. You don’t know how it is. I’m an inventor. I do R&D. How the hell am I supposed to do it without sight.”

“People find work arounds all the time.”

“And this is my work around. I am not giving this up, Strange. So, can it.”

“What if I told you I might be able to give you your natural sight back?” Strange says and waits for Tony’s reaction. 

Steve nearly gasps but muffles his reaction. He’s an outside observer, he’s not allowed to have a vote. Tony, though, he stops his reaction, he stops breathing. He sits still and unmoving. 

“What did you say?” He touches the back of his head where the small disc of the implant sits.

“I said I may be able to give you back natural vision.” Strange goes back to his computer and does a few keystrokes. “Please put your glasses back on.” 

Steve touches the side of Tony’s hand and then places them in his palm. Tony slips the glasses on and touches the frame. He winces a little but doesn’t complain of a headache – yet. “What are you talking about?” He turns his attention to Strange. 

Strange concentrates on the small laptop computer but then switches the feed over to a large monitor on the side counter. Tony hops off the table and stands at the monitor, studying it. Steve can tell it’s a series of graphs with information about whatever virotherapy is. He’s learned quite a lot in the last few days, but his knowledge isn’t this deep. He steps to the side so he can watch and listen but stay out of the way. Strange doesn’t react to his attention, his focus is only on Tony.

“This is a viral therapy that is gaining some traction in the use of delivery of drugs to the brain. It is especially appealing because of its lower side effects. While there’s a lot of research going on about controlling the immune response, Doctor Wong and I believe we can penetrate into the brain tissue and target the optical nerve.” He flicks through a few slides and Tony furrows his brow as he looks at the graphics.

“So, it’s a virus? Isn’t that dangerous?” Steve can’t help himself. He needs to understand, part of his job is to be there for Tony, support him and his work.

“No, the virulence has been engineered out of the vector.” Strange touches the large monitor and pushes through a few data slides. He gets to a cartoon of virotherapy. “Essentially, we’re using the virus as a tool. All of the damaging parts of the virus’ genome have been removed. All that you have is what we need.”

“How do you home it to the optical nerve?” Steve asks and he notices how Tony beams at him. He’s proud, happy that Steve picked up on that specific issue.

“We would need to add what specific molecules that will only target the optical nerve. It will be very difficult.”

“Not so much if the implant is there. It has a specific resonance frequency that the virus could home to if you do it right.” Tony rubs at his beard. “But really what good is this for me? I had a brain bleed because of the accident that killed the Optic chiasm.”

“I think we could regrow it,” Strange says and taps through a series of diagrams. “First we need to get the capillaries to regrow in the area. We are using specific drugs to do that. We’d have to be very careful so that there’s no brain bleed.” 

“Oh that won’t be pleasant.” 

“We would do it very controlled. We have all kinds of data from animals.”

“You’re recruiting for a trial,” Tony says. “And that’s why you don’t want to upgrade my implant.”

“I could lose my license for that implant in the first place,” Strange strikes back. “It’s highly irregular. Not FDA approved and way beyond an investigational new device!” 

“And this little hocus pocus sounds any better,” Tony snaps back. “Once you bleed my brain then what?”

“The nerves may just grow back on their own. It’s been shown that it is possible, plus with delivery of neural growth factors we have a good chance, Tony.” Strange waits as Tony remains uncharacteristically silent. “You could regain some of your natural sight. The methodology here is cutting edge.”

After a beat, Tony asks, “More than the implant and the glasses?”

“It could be.” Strange concedes then. “The chances are small though. We’ve had success in about 20% of our animal studies.”

“Twenty percent,” Tony says and slumps down in a chair. He pushes his fingers under his glasses and into his sightless eyes. His voice is mumbled, and Steve feels the heartache, the pain, and the promise all wrapped into it. “That’s all. I could gain some of my sight back or nothing and have to live like this.” He pulls off his glasses. “I can’t do it, Strange. I can’t.”

“Living like you are now you’re asking for a stroke or worse,” Strange says. “We don’t even have to do brain surgery. We could deliver it through the spinal cord if we still have the implant as a homing device. After we can remove the implant and you’ll be free of the headaches.”

Tony falls silent again, his glasses hanging from his fingertips as he bends over and has his elbows on his knees. The defeat and shock emanate off him in slow aching waves. Steve settles next to him and gently takes the precariously held glasses out of his hand. He places a hand on his shoulder. In a quiet voice Tony says, “I need time to think.”

Strange nods and then says, “Have all the time you need, Tony. It’s a good chance.”

“How long?” Tony looks up at Strange as if he can see him. “How long will I be sightless?”

“It could take months or years for all the nerves to grow back.”

“Or not at all,” Tony whispers. 

Steve watches the back and forth between doctor and patient. The sinking feeling in his gut grows heavy and he turns away. He’s been a patient before – heard words he wanted to ignore. He’s been a family member and listened to the worst diagnoses and fought through the weight in his gut. But the weight is like gravity. It pulls and tugs until it drowns. He coughs once and excuses himself. Tony doesn’t say anything as Steve steps out of the room.

He yanks out his phone and dials the number. 

“Is Tony done already at the doctor’s?” Happy asks.

“No. I just wanted to know if you could go and get a blanket, and a fully stocked picnic basket.”

“A picnic basket?” Happy sounds dubious.

“Just get it. He’s.” Steve stops. “He’s going to need a break after this. I want to bring him over to the park, maybe and see if he can relax.”

“That bad?”

“Pretty bad,” Steve says. He’s not sure about the scale but the utterly defeated look and demeanor of Tony showed Steve enough. “I think he needs to just feel the sun on his face a little.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Happy breathes a few times in the phone. Over the last week, Steve’s learned Happy is a heavy breather by habit. “You’re a good kid and all. Thanks for doing this for him.”

“It’s okay.” Steve thinks he should say – it’s my job – but that feels uncaring and heartless and untrue. Instead he says, “He needs it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tony stands under the willow tree as Steve lays out a blanket. He spins on his heel and stares at Happy in the distance who is just driving away. His life is driving away from him, it has been since that fateful day in December when his father drove them home from an early Christmas Party. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Tony still hears his mother’s failing voice calling for his father. Howard had refused to wear his seatbelt – of course- and had suffered the consequences. He’d been thrown from the car, died instantly. Mom – well, it took time for her to fade away. Tony swears and blinks a few times. Memories aren’t like vision. Vision is a momentary thing, a thing that can be cut off. Memories stay.

“Hey,” Steve says. “I have a nice picnic basket packed.” He holds up a wicker basket as Tony turns back to him. “Got all kinds of goodies.”

Tony frowns. He hadn’t remembered Steve carrying a basket with him when they left this morning. “This – a picnic. We have to have a picnic?” He wonders if this is what Steve considers being good Personal Assistant. To Tony an excellent assistant helps him figure out how to get his implant upgraded and not give himself a stroke while also simultaneously looking for someone Tony might be able to relieve a little tension, but then that idea quickly devolves into imagining Steve in that role. And no. He’s not allowed that according to Pepper’s most recent lecture.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you have?”

Steve smiles but then looks confused. “Hmm.” He drops the basket on the blanket and kneels next to it. Opening it, Steve digs through the items packed in the basket. He takes out forks, knives, plastic plates, cloth napkins, a cheese board, a cheese knife (which he examines as if it is a fascinating tool), and then starts pulling out one container of food after another. “I don’t know, but it looks great.”

Tony sidles down onto the blanket and takes pity on Steve. He opens the container of Strawberry Mango Mesclun Salad. He pops the lid open and smells the balsamic vinaigrette. “This looks good. I’m sure it took you all morning to put this together.” He notes as Steve pours the glasses of pink lemonade. 

“You know I didn’t put this together, and before you ask, neither did Jarvis. I asked Happy to go out and get something for you. I thought it might help.” Steve sets the small tray out to balance the glasses of lemonade. Then he searches for the serving plates and finds a hunk of cheese. He stares at it.

Tony grabs it and places it on the cutting board. “You’re helpless.” He begins to slice the cheese. “You’re not my personal assistant to take care of my feelings, you know.” He knows his voice sounds strained. He’s brittle, ready to break. In less time that he can calculate right now, he’s going to lose his sight entirely. He won’t be able to stand the headaches anymore and Strange’s weird experimental procedure has less hope than wishes. “I can handle it. I’ve been handling it for 10 years.”

“Ten, huh?” Steve says. He opens the lid of another container to reveal wraps of Mendocino Chicken Salad. “Oh.” He licks his lips. “This looks good.” He glances up at Tony as if to ask what it is.

“Smoked chicken with almonds and basil. Very good. Not my favorite, but I like it,” Tony says and points to the plates. “Put it on the plates.” 

As Steve works, he doesn’t look up at Tony, but he does address him. “Seems to me that the last 10 years might be a little about avoiding the truth and not facing it.”

“That’s a bunch of ableist crap. Don’t come to me and tell me you understand how it feels to be in my position. You can’t even. Plus, what I’m doing with this implant is revolutionary. There are millions of blind and visually impaired people who would love to know that it’s possible to get your sight back,” Tony snaps. He drops the cheese knife. “This is not about denial; this is about the future.”

“There’s planning for the future and then there’s dealing with the risk. What’s the risk, Tony? You said you had a traumatic brain injury that caused your blindness. What happens if you have a stroke? What happens if the stroke leads to more brain injury?” Steve shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t know you well or anything, but what I’ve seen so far-.” He drops off and then sits down, staring out.

“What?” Tony challenges him. “What have you seen?” He expects the inevitable from sighted person. 

“I’ve seen someone incredibly brilliant and overwhelming isolated.”

Tony ignores the first and focuses entirely on the last part of that sentence. “Your observation skills suck for someone with 20:20 vision.” 

Steve falls silent as Tony grabs another of the containers in the picnic basket. He opens it to find brownies. Happy knows him too well. He plucks one out and bites into it. Steve huffs at him.

“You haven’t even eaten a salad or wrap or anything else. You can’t eat dessert first.” He dishes out the salad and places one of the wraps on the plastic plate that is masquerading as good China. He offers the filled plate to Tony with a fork and napkin. “Come on now take it.”

“No. I’m eating brownies for lunch,” Tony says and wraps his whole arm around the container.

“That’s mature,” Steve says and gives up trying to serve Tony. After a brief spell of merciful quietude, Steve must decide it’s a good idea to harangue him over lunch. “I’ve watched you, you know, over the last week. You’re intense. I think you’ll do it. Eventually. But- and here’s the thing – if you have stroke before then it’s all for naught.”

“You have very little faith in me,” Tony says and settles against the tree, still picking out of the brownie container. Steve stands up and goes over to him. He kneels next to his feet and starts to untie Tony’s shoelaces. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trust me. I saw it in a movie once. Or twice.”

“Are we talking Pretty Woman or Diehard?” Tony asks as Steve slips off his socks as well. 

“Both. I want you to walk around in the grass and I want you to make fists with your toes. It will relax the tension you’re holding.” Steve gets to his feet and offers Tony a hand. Tony refuses to move, Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “Come on now.”

“This is not your job.”

“My job description in the contracts says that I am to ensure your well-being.” Steve waits with his hand outstretched. 

“It does not,” Tony retorts, though he’s not 100% sure whether Pepper might have added that little sentence somewhere, stuck it in when he wasn’t looking. That’s taking advantage of a blind man. 

“Up.” 

Tony puts the container down and grasps Steve’s hand, making the living god help him to his feet. He resists Steve’s encouragement, inwardly cursing at the man but at the same time curiosity blossoms, warm and expansive in his chest. The thought that Steve cares and wants to do something, even in the ridiculous, slightly insulting way, shines through to Tony. He can’t help but smile. Steve leads him out on the grass, holding him like he’s a child just trying out new skates. Tony glances around; they aren’t the only ones here in this little corner of the park. Over near the next copse of trees, a couple next to each other but with their phones drawing their attention. Directly in front of them a group of elderly gentleman and women play chess. To the side, Tony can hear children playing, but the data detector of the glasses is too weak to pick up the signal. The chess players look a little cartoonish due to their distance and the issues he’s had with signal to noise ratios and resolution. When Tony looks at Steve, the scene resolves, and he can see the fine details of his personal assistant.

“Come on, do the toe thing.”

“The toe thing?” Tony asks.

“Make fists with them as we walk,” Steve says. A curl of a smile appears on his face. “Fists with your toes.”

“Well, it depends on whether or not we’re in a rom-com or an action flick. Which is it?”

“What depends on it?” Steve keeps his hands-on Tony’s shoulders, massaging them.

“Whether or not I’m going to make fists with my toes. I mean if I’m going to have a shoot up with glass windows breaking everywhere, I think I should put my shoes back on. If I’m going to get a good roll in the sack after this, I would be happy to do whatever you say,” Tony snickers.

“I think that’s call sexual harassment, sir,” Steve remarks but then leans over and plucks Tony’s glasses off his face. 

Immediately Tony jerks around and places his hand on his face. “Son of a bitch. Why did you do that? Give them back.”

“I will. Just relax. Just for a moment.” Steve guides him down to the grass. 

The shade of the tree is gone, Tony can feel the heat of the sun on his face. He squints his eyes and bows his head. “You don’t understand. Give my glasses back, now.”

“I just want you to know -.”

“What? How it would be if I didn’t have my sight?” Tony hisses in a low voice. “Don’t you fucking think I know? I lived blind for years before I developed even Dummy. I live blind most of my life when the headaches start. I get it. Life is beautiful anyway you can get it. I understand that. But do you understand that the world is made for people with sight? Do you get that the world is made for people who can walk? Or hear? Or talk? Or not have their senses blown to pieces because of the overwhelming sensory inputs the fucking modern world thinks nothing about?” When Steve is silent, Tony proceeds, “Well, I do. I know it and I comprehend it. I am not disadvantaged or challenged; I am winning this fucking life because I have to do it with less than you have. Think about that. Now, give me my damned glasses!”

Steve slips them on Tony’s face. He sits there next to Tony, his expression tight, pensive. After a long pause, Steve says, “I can’t pretend to know what it feels like to not see. If I couldn’t see, I wouldn’t be able to do any of my art. And I’d be lost without that. My mom died before she got to see me graduate art school. I joined the Army partially to follow in my father’s footsteps and partially because I just couldn’t afford to feed myself anymore. I did my tours; I did my duty. I lost my fiancé in a mission. I came home. When I interviewed for this job I had less than 20 bucks to my name. I know what it means to do without. I might not have the physical issue – outside of the chemical induced asthma I got from my tours in the Army – that you do, but I do understand, a tiny bit about having less of something that this world runs on. You gave me an opportunity here, Tony. I was trying to give you one, too.” He stops and swallows hard, audibly. Even without his glasses on Tony would have heard it, seen it in his mind’s eye. “I’ll get you home and get my things. I’ll be out by the end of the day.”

Tony chews back his words, the sharp, cutting ones he normally grabs onto in order to shield himself, like a suit of armor. “You. You don’t have to leave.” He slowly reaches up and takes off his glasses. “Not having money is something you can remedy, Steve. Not having the gift of sight is not something I can fix, apparently.” He feels the wet on his face, tears streaking down. His vulnerabilities laid bare. “You can sympathize with me, Steve. You can feel pity, but you can’t empathize. You couldn’t even if you tried your damnedest.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers after a moment. “I only wanted to help. I know that what Doctor Strange said to you this morning affected you. I wanted to somehow help.”

Tony nods. He wipes away his tears and Steve places something in his hand. He touches it and then figures it out. “A handkerchief? You carry a hanky?” A smile curls his lips that he can’t suppress.

“My Ma always told me to be prepared.” 

Tony uses the hanky, only cleaning off the tears and drying his eyes. He can feel the tatting on the sides of the hanky, the delicate stitching on the fabric. “Your mother made this.”

“She always bought the plain ones and did the decorations herself.”

“Sharon, Sarah, or Susan?” Tony asks as he follows the curve of the initials. 

“What’s that?”

Tony holds up the hanky. “Your mom’s name. Started with an S.”

“Sarah. And how did you know it wasn’t mine?” Steve says as he takes the hanky away from Tony. 

“Feels rough like it hasn’t been used in a long time,” Tony says. “You must have just taken it out of storage or something.” 

“Yeah, I did.” Steve falls silent, closing away the explanation, but Tony chases after it like he’s skipping through a dark and shadowy meadow trying to capture butterflies.

“You miss her.”

“Yeah, I do.” Steve clears his throat. “It’s remarkable, you know. You knew that it wasn’t mine. That it was someone else’s. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Don’t try and compliment me and expect me to forget the rest of the afternoon,” Tony says but the insults already fade away. Logically, Tony knows that Steve had wanted to help, but no one ever taught him how to assist someone blind. It’s a learning process, Tony recognizes that – from experience. Jarvis and Ana had to pick their way through a mind field of his self-pity and denial, his anger and his depression before they all settled into a rhythm. 

“Well, let me clean up,” Steve says. As he starts to close up their nearly untouched lunch, he adds, “I will leave if you want me to Tony. You don’t have to-.”

“Stay. And let’s finish our lunch. I’d like that. Then after you can give me one of those head massages,” Tony says because he knows the glasses aren’t going to last – not today. Not with all the stress. He’s going to breakdown and the headaches lurk in the corners.

It’s a week later and Tony’s in the lab working with Friday when she interrupts his virtual reality simulation with news. Standing in the middle of the lab, he wears his interface gloves and his virtual reality goggles as he renders the third draft of the implant and that’s just today. He can’t get the biochemistry right. He’s not a biochemist. He might need to call in an old friend on this one and he hates to do that – Bruce is researching in the field right now, off in India or Africa to trying to save the world. But the fact remains that Strange is right, the implant causes minute disruptions of the pressure in the blood vessels in his brain, which leads to the circulation in capillaries to be stressed – and that only results in plaques forming as the capillaries bruise. Microscopic injuries could lead to a catastrophic failure and a major stroke. 

He swipes away the current iteration of the implant and sighs. Dropping onto a stool, Tony calls out, “Steve, you there?”

From the art room, his personal assistant answers, “Almost done with the last draft.”

“Scrap it. The pressure’s too high. It’ll never work.”

Friday interrupts him again as he listens for Steve’s groan of frustration. It’s muted but there as an undercurrent. “Boss, I think you should see this.”

“There’s the rub, dearest Friday. I can’t see anything.”

“You might want to consider this-.” Friday flashes the news onto the virtual reality interface and he cringes. 

_Has Tony Stark found a new boytoy? Insiders say that Tony Stark has a new beau. We have to agree this beautiful specimen of the male species was seen with Tony Stark sharing an intimate picnic at Central Park the other day. Tony Stark sure knows how to pick ‘em. How long do you give these two? A week? Ten days?_

Tony sweeps away the gossip news. “How many times do I have to tell you Friday, that’s trash you’re watching?” 

“It’s not the only network or outlet broadcasting the news, Boss.”

“It’s a load of shit,” Tony remarks and then Steve buts in.

“What’s a load of shit?” Tony hears Steve footsteps across the laboratory floor. He stops in front of Tony. “Do you want me to take off the VR stuff and put on your glasses?”

“Yeah. No. Just off with the VR and no glasses for now.” Tony pulls off the gloves and hands them to Steve as he unsnaps the VR goggles. 

Steve handles all the equipment and Tony hears him place in the bench in the specific cubbies. “Headache.”

“Might be stress.”

Steve has the good sense not to comment. Instead he says as he stands in front of Tony and puts his hand behind his back, slightly brushing Tony’s hand to actually tell him he’s there. Tony grips his upper arm. “How about we break and go and get some tea. I’m sure I can get something for a midnight snack.”

“Midnight?” Tony says and tightens his grasp. “I thought it was only afternoon.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

That meant that Friday held off from telling Tony about the breaking news, the fucking paparazzi following him everywhere. He’d told the AI before that he didn’t want to hear anything if it wasn’t authenticated through multiple news outlets with different sources. Because Friday waited so long to tell him – nearly midnight in the news cycle – it means that it isn’t a simple leak. It is probably plastered all over New York City. 

As Steve leads him out of the workshop and toward the elevator, Tony confesses, “Looks like someone got a few photos of our picnic. They’re making the wrong assumptions, just so you know.”

Steve is quiet as they ride the elevator. 

“Say something, I can’t read your face and your breathing hasn’t changed or anything.”

There’s laughter in his voice. “Just so you know, I’m not at all bothered.”

“I thought you being an Army guy, you’d be kind of -.”

“What?” Steve says as he steps out of the elevator and heads toward the kitchen. “You thought I’d get disgusted with the thought of the media pairing me up with you?” His voice is lighter than Tony would have assumed. “Nope. I’m bi. My fiancé knew it and she had no problem with it. If anything, Tony, I’m flattered.”

“Well, you won’t be flattered when they start following you around everywhere.” Tony thanks Steve as he guides him to a stool at the counter island in the kitchen. 

“I was in the Army, Tony. I know how to handle myself,” Steve says. “How about some hot chocolate and cookies.” 

“It’s a million degrees outside and you want to make hot chocolate?” Tony hops off the stool. “Since you think we’re having Christmas in July, I’ll go start a fire in the lounge.” He laughs as he pulls out Dummy and taps his way to the living room. Normally he wouldn’t use Dummy in the house, but he knows that Jarvis had the cleaning service in today and sometimes they mess with the furniture placement. 

Going to the stone fireplace, Tony finds the control panel on the wall and taps out the commands. It’s a real wood burning fireplace, but it does have some automation. All he needs to do is ensure the wood is stacked. “Query: Wood?”

The rudimentary AI in the fireplace beeps twice. “Confirmed. Wood is stacked and ready.”

“Great. Start fire.”

He hears the snap of the flint and then the puff of the fire catching after a few tries. He smiles. One of his better designs, though the AI needs an upgrade. One day he’ll get a chance to wire the whole penthouse with Friday and it will be glorious. But that is not this day, he chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” Steve calls from the kitchen – Tony hears the slight echo of his voice off the tiles. 

“Nothing. Do you want some Christmas music?” Tony asks.

“It’s July, Tony,” Steve says.

“Christmas music it is,” Tony says. Pulling out his phone he orders, “Friday, put on some instrumental Christmas music. Mix it up some.”

He taps his way over to the couch and settles down. It’s late at night and energy buzzes through him. It’s been this way since the accident. Circadian rhythms are for the visual population. He lives in a twilight world, a place where night and day meld together. It reminds him of those winter days when he was a kid and they lived in the mansion on 5th avenue. Days when clouds obscured the sun and the trees and street were covered in snow. Everything blended together in tones of silver, white, gray, and black. His life is like that now. It doesn’t matter how much the glasses help him; he doesn’t know what red is. He doesn’t know what blue is. Not anymore. It’s a fantasy he’s been chasing for nearly 10 years. He’s Alice in Wonderland, seeking a white rabbit with a pocket watch ticking down his time until everything falls apart, until he topples down the rabbit hole.

“Hey, here you go.” Steve announces as he enters the room. “I have hot chocolate with cookies that I’m pretty sure Ana baked this morning.”

“She’s a godsent I swear,” Tony says and sits up.

“On the coffee table. The mug is at 7 o’clock on the tray and the cookies are at 2.” Tony hears Steve sips from his mug. 

Taking a cookie and the mug, Tony sits back. The instrumental music plays lightly in the background. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“I am not wishing you Merry Christmas in July, Tony. That’s ridiculous.”

The hot chocolate is excellent as are the sugar cookies. “I’m ridiculous. Look at me. Trying still to put on a charade. How much longer can I keep it up?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” Steve says and there’s a slight dip in his voice. He’s treading water, he doesn’t want to offend Tony like he did the past week.

“Okay, truth only. What do you think about Strange’s proposal?” Tony says and then crunches into the cookie. It melts in his mouth, the taste of butter sweet and creamy.

“Truthfully? I think you should consider it. I don’t know a lot about it, but I think it’s an option. Right now, your implant is failing, and you’ll lose your sight if you can’t figure it out. At the rate the headaches are coming on, well, I don’t see how you have a choice.” Steve says and Tony hears the rustle of fabric and feels the movement on the couch – a lift of his shoulder – shrug.

“I could just forget it.”

The music continues in the background, the wistful Auld Lang Syne plays. It seems appropriate to Tony. His mother used to love this song, but he steps away from that memory in his head – he can’t think of her and his guilt that she died that night.

“Just forget Strange’s trial?” Steve is asking, pulling Tony out of the pit of his memories.

He shakes his head. “No, I could forget trying to do this anymore. I could just be blind.”

“Or you could just be you,” Steve says. “I don’t know. I think we all like to pretend we’re someone else. It’s like if you were a superhero, would you tell the world, or would you hide it. Stand up there and say I am Iron Man, or would you keep it hidden? Which? How would you hide it?”

“Being blind is not being a superhero. And who the hell is Iron Man?” Tony says. 

Steve chuckles in response. He shifts on the couch, causing his knee to touch Tony’s leg. For the first time, Tony realizes that Steve’s wearing shorts. Sure, he saw him earlier when he was wearing the glasses, but without the visual cues to prompt him to remember what outfit Steve is wearing, Tony tends to fall back on the same shirt and pants he wore the first day in the interview. While Steve talks about some comic book venture he’s been working on, the bare knee distracts Tony.

The pressure of Steve’s knee against Tony’s jeans and the glide of flesh against denim clues Tony in. He reaches out and lays his hand on Steve’s knee causing him to stop talking. “You’re wearing shorts.”

“Yes,” Steve says, his words are low, quiet, tentative.

Tony brushes his thumb over the angular jut of Steve’s knee cap. “You’re so big I forget how slim you are, too.” His hand travels down Steve’s calf. “Sometimes without the visual keys I don’t really have an image in my mind of how you look. I kind of link you to sound or a fragrance. Like Pepper – she’s always strawberries to me, even though she’s deathly allergic to them. She wears this perfume that has an undercurrent of strawberries to it. She doesn’t smell it. I do.” 

“So, Pepper is strawberries. What’s Happy?” Steve asks. He hasn’t moved his leg, even as Tony gently follows the contours of it with his hand.

“Happy.” He hums a little. “Happy I always picture as a nervous Santa Claus. Lord, please don’t tell him. Please. He would be mortified.”

Steve giggles and slaps his other leg. “Santa with anxiety. That’s a good one. What about Jarvis?”

“Jarvis is Jarvis. I picture him as my dad. Not like my dad dad but my dad. He’s always cared for me that way,” Tony says and lifts his hand away from Steve.

Lowly, Steve asks, “And Ana, do you picture her as your mother?”

Tony tightens his lips and shakes his head. “No. Not at all. She’s cookies and thick Eastern European sauces and candles burning down to their end.”

“And me?”

“It takes a while, you know. For me to settle on something.”

“Nothing comes to mind?” There’s disappointment in his voice, a far-off sound as if he’s resigned to a place he’s always been destine to have – a part from the crowd.

“Let me,” Tony says, and he leans over to place the cup on the table and then turns back to Steve. “Can I touch you?”

“Hmm. Let me put my cup down.” He does and then stills. “Do you want me to face you?”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Tony says. He waits as Steve adjusts. The weight on the couch shifts and changes, but remains the same overall. “When I first went blind my friend from school, Rhodey – James Rhodes – came over. He was great. Very supportive. But I was in shock so much, I couldn’t picture his face. I kept having these panic attacks about how I couldn’t see him. How I couldn’t picture him. What did he look like? I was a basket case.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tenderly places his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “He let me do this. Every day for like ten days. It helped – a lot. It grounded me.” He slides his hands up toward Steve’s jaw. “I’m going to touch your face, is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Steve’s breath warms the space between them. 

As Tony glides his fingers up across his neck, he feels the vulnerable jugular beating against his fingertips, a rhythm hard and fast. “Don’t be nervous.” He touches the strong jaw, the form like an ancient Greek warrior.

“Not nervous,” Steve whispers but he swallows hard.

Tony’s fingers inch upward to his cheekbones, finely chiseled and symmetrical. So perfect in form that Tony smiles.

“What are you smiling about?” Steve asks, his voice husky and slow.

“They did a study once. Found that very symmetrical people are considered beautiful. You’re pretty symmetrical.” Tony pretends he didn’t just tell Steve how beautiful he is. Instead, he explores further, touching the bridge of his nose. “Your nose isn’t perfectly straight is it?”

“Nope. Suppose I’m not beautiful.” Steve quakes under his touch like a string being plucked on a violin. 

“Oh I doubt that very sincerely, Captain,” Tony whispers and runs his hands through Steve’s hair. “You have that kind of blonde hair that gets like barley in the summer and dishwater in the winter.”

“Don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.” He’s still shivering under Tony’s touch. 

“Tell me what you think? Tell me how I should picture you?” Tony asks and then lets his hands drift down to Steve’s shoulders, to his biceps. 

“Maybe like oil paints. The smell of oil paint? Or the scratch of charcoal against paper?” Steve shrugs under Tony’s hand and it’s affected, he’s trying so hard to be casual under Tony’s hands.

“Is this uncomfortable for you? I don’t want for it to be uncomfortable for you,” Tony says. Pepper always cautions him about flirting with the staff, but generally he stays away from most of the staff. He’s a little of a recluse when it comes to his R&D department. 

“No. No, not at all.” Tony hears him lick his lips.

“You’re shaking.”

He clears his throat and then stands up, breaking them apart. Tony’s hands feel cold. “I just, I’m really tired. Can I help you to your room?”

Tony closes his eyes as if that will do anything to wipe away his embarrassment. He rubs at his nose and then his face, running his hands through the mess of his hair. “No. I can get there on my own. Just leave the mess. Jarvis will get it in the morning.” His hands feel so cold. The world is so distant, so very far away. 

Steve hesitates. “Remember tomorrow I’m off.”

“Oh?” That’s right. Steve has every 7th day off. To do whatever a comic book artist does – something with some type of comic book called Iron Man or something. That’s what he just told Tony – or that’s what Tony thinks he heard. All he can think about is his empty, cold hands. “That’s right. Well, see you then on Sunday, Steve.”

“See you then,” Steve says. “Goodnight, Tony.”

“Goodnight.”

Tony waits for Steve’s footsteps to dissipate, fade away before he collapses back on the couch into the cushions. Laying his head back, Tony remembers what Steve looks like, but his memories integrate the sensory experience from touch. Once he thought of Steve as a Greek god, but now – now something else. Something different happened. His fingertips feel electrified with the memory of the rough skin of his jaw, the perfect curve of his cheekbones, the brush of his long lashes. Under his touch, Steve is beauty personified.

“Fuck,” Tony whispers but doesn’t shy away from the memory of discovering Steve.


	6. Chapter 6

_BUZZFEED: The newest show to make the rounds in streaming is Christine Everhart’s In Focus. This new format of exposé will target one subject for each season. In the premiere season, Everhart plans on exposing the truth about Tony Stark. Now, Tony Stark is everyone’s dreamboat playboy billionaire. He’s been linked to several different supermodels, both male and female. No one’s ever pinned him down and no one ever talks about Tony Stark. Not one person who has dated him or spends any time at all with him. That’s some extreme loyalty. Now this new development with Tony Stark’s Personal Assistant, Steve Rogers, happens and everyone is clamoring for more information on the mysterious Tony Stark. Who is he really? Is it true that all the research and development done at his company originates all from Tony Stark’s mind? Why doesn’t anyone ever speak about Tony in public? Why are all his press appearances cut short? Christine Everhart’s new series may very well answer some of these questions. For an unauthorized biography of the Starks and especially Tony Stark tune in this Fall._

Over the next weeks, the presents of the paparazzi buzzes around him like a swarm of insects, locusts ready to feed on any morsel of information. Steve never gets used to it, but he does manage it better. The first time he handled it poorly and the whole of his yelling at the photographers splashed across twitter, Buzzfeed, and even Variety news outlets. He learned from that and now he simply puts on a pair of sunglasses, a hoodie, and walks as fast as he can to get away from them. 

Natasha thinks the whole thing is hilarious. Sam and Bucky tease him constantly about it. He doesn’t mind their ragging on him about it, at least it takes his mind off of the phantom touch of Tony, the caress of his well worked hands across his face, cupping his jaw as if he might lean over and brush his lips against Steve’s mouth. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts about his boss. He manages to keep his cool about it, not act too jittery in front of Tony, but his job requires that he allow Tony to touch him. Every time his heart leaps in his chest and Steve swears Tony hears it. He always has to gulp down his excitement. 

When he shows up at Asgardian Comics with his final proofs of the pages, Steve’s glad to get away from Tony for the day. Though he admits to himself as he walks through the door to the comic book publisher, his nerves want to pop out of his skin with anticipation of seeing Tony again. He’s got to get it under control. 

“Hey Steve,” Darcy says, and she raises a brow at him. She’s been in the teasing group of his friends. “How’s it going?” Her voice sing songs the words.

“Good Darcy. Is Jane back there?” He points to the workroom.

Darcy blows a bubble with her gum and nods. “Go on back. She’s waiting for you.” She winks at him as he rounds the counter and enters the main work area.

Jane’s sitting at a computer with Thor hanging over her shoulder. She looks up and smiles at him. “Steve! Great. You have the final proofs?”

“Yeah.” Steve lifts the portfolio. “There’s some issues with the coloring on the back pages for some reason. You might want to take a look. I made some comments on printed and electronic copies.”

Jane leans back and grabs the portfolio. “Great. You made the deadline.”

“August 1st. Yep.” Steve hopes to hell he can catch some sleep tonight. It’s been a long few weeks. “All ready to roll.”

“Hmm. What’s this?” Jane pulls out the draft pages and Steve yelps, jumping over to the portfolio and jerking it from her grasp.

“Sorry, sorry. Those are private-.”

“Those are gorgeous,” Jane says and yanks them back. 

“Steven, these are magnificent drawings. Has your boss seen them?” Thor asks as he pages through the sketches.

“No. I don’t think he would approve of my use of his image for a subject.” Steve stands back. He’d forgotten to clean out the portfolio before he stuffed in the proofs. Too many things on his mind, too many things cluttering up his usually straightforward and concise thinking patterns. 

“This one – I love this one the most,” Jane says and places it on the drafting table. It’s one of Tony’s eyes. “I love how the one eye is just an eye but the other one – it’s like you used cubism to get a look into his soul. The different images on the cubes-.”

“Electronics, hands, lightning.” Thor touches his lips. “It’s wonderful, Steven. You should show him. This is only a sketch. Your talent exceeds your humble attitude.”

Steve manages to get all the sketches and gathers them together to place back in the cheap leather portfolio. “It’s just a study. Nothing more.”

“It seems to be something more,” Jane says. She isn’t teasing, she’s testing the waters to see if he wants to talk about it. 

It all makes him think about Peggy, about their wedding plans. It makes his throat close up and his heart skip in his chest and then the tears come to his eyes. Hot sharp reminders about where his life is supposed to be. He can’t be happy, not without her. He shouldn’t look at Tony that way, ever. 

As if Thor reads his mind he says, “You may always love her, but you should not put her on some pedestal. She wouldn’t want you to never love again.”

Steve blinks too rapidly to deny his feelings. It tightens his chest, his throat. The room is too hot, too close to him. He licks his lips and says, “I know.” His voice is a ruin of emotion. “I just don’t want to-.”

Jane stands up and takes his hand. “You’ll never forget her, Steve. But that doesn’t mean you can’t move on.”

Steve nods. His words clog up his throat. “I just- Tony’s off limits. I can’t fall for him. It’s not right. I can’t. He has enough on his plate without his Personal Assistant mooning after him.” He pulls out his hanky and wipes his face. When he looks at it, Steve laughs a little. “You know I think I need some space. You have everything you need?”

Jane smiles, tired and sad. “Yeah. Thanks Steve.”

He clips the portfolio closed and offers what little smile he has to give them. With a wave he leaves the offices. As he goes down the concrete steps of the stoop, Thor calls, “Steven.”

Turning, Steve frowns. “Is there something else?”

“Yes, I think we need drink.” He pulls on his hoodie. It’s August. Even Steve’s sweating in his own hoodie. “Or two.”

Maybe going with Thor had been a bad idea. He wakes up the next morning in his small attic apartment with Thor resting his head on Steve’s belly and a throbbing headache. Steve rubs at his face. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and tastes like he licked New York sidewalks. He gags a little. Pushing Thor off his stomach (who only grumbles), Steve tries to get up, fails, and then stumbles to his feet. The room crashes at him like he’s in the trash compactor scene in Star Wars. He tastes bile which makes his tongue even more disgusting. 

Getting to his tiny bathroom, Steve turns on the shower, strips and glances down at his body. Thank God he doesn’t have any marks. He doesn’t think he slept with Thor. He hopes to hell he didn’t. He steps into his minuscule shower, cleans as quickly as he can, scrubbing away the filth of the bars they must have visited last night. His eyes ache like he bathed them in alcohol. He finishes but the grime clings to him. He brushes his teeth as he hears a large groan from the living room. 

“Sweet-pea? Where’s my Sweet-pea?” 

Sweet-pea? Shit, did they sleep together. Steve clenches the toothbrush between his teeth and wipes away the fog on the mirror. No, love bites on his neck. His ass doesn’t ache. Is Thor bi? He crunches up his face. God, what did he do?

“Sweet-pea, there you are.” Thor leans against the door frame. He’s holding a banana (where the hell did he get that) and winks at Steve. “I missed you. Come back to bed.”

“Hmm. Thor, no?” Steve takes out the toothbrush, spits, and then wipes his face. “I’m sorry Thor. Whatever happened last night, it can’t happen again. I’m not interested in a relationship with you.” 

“No?” Thor staggers back. He turns his back on Steve. “But what of last night. Your warm arms. How can I go on?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Just stop.” Okay he jumped to conclusions. “You can stop now.” He follows Thor out of the bathroom as his friend tosses himself around the room in faked anguish. “Just stop.”

“Are you sure? You looked positively delightful.” He goes to the kitchen. “All you have are bananas.” 

“I’m not even sure where they came from,” Steve says as he throws his toothbrush back in the bathroom and then joins Thor in the kitchen. 

“We bought them last night after the paparazzi snapped photos of us together. I think we fixed your issue with your boss. No one is going to think you’re sleeping with him anymore.” 

“What?” Steve sinks on the couch with his hands over his face. “What the hell?” 

“See? Now you know you do want to sleep with him,” Thor snickers. He searches the cupboards to no avail. “No coffee. This is a disgrace.”

“I don’t actively live here, Thor,” Steve says and drops his hands. His life swirls around like a maelstrom. He’s either in love with his boss or he’s not. He’s got to get his head on straight. 

“Well you did at one time, I would think there would be coffee,” Thor says and he opens the cupboard under the sink.

“Couldn’t afford it.” Steve has to accept the fact that while he might want a relationship with Tony, one is not going to happen. Except for the aborted picnic and that night they shared hot chocolate no more hints at anything like a relationship beyond the professional have happened. They’ve worked tirelessly on the new upgrade for the implant while also doing a heck of a lot of research into the experimental virotherapy that Strange suggested. He sags in the chair. “I gotta go. Get ready for work. I should have been back last night.” He’s still in his towel and Thor is still scowling at his empty cupboards.

Thor stops, his expression grave. “Steven, you must stop letting life pass you by. Look at who you are. This place tells a story here. I know, I write stories for a living. Here, hidden up in your attic away from the world you can pretend you don’t need anyone. But you do. And you want someone. I suggest you go and get it.” He throws the banana peel away. “And get coffee too. This place is really miserable.” 

“I gotta get dressed.” He leaves Thor and goes back to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes under his arm. Going out and getting a life does not mean banging his boss; it doesn’t matter if Tony’s touch felt electric. Doesn’t matter what Steve imagines when he’s sketching late at night, or what he does in the shower alone. None of that matters. He has a job, a really good one that pays a good amount of money. He’s not screwing it up.

Later when he arrives at the Tower and steps out into the penthouse, several people greet him in the main living room area. “Oh.” He hates intruding on Tony’s guests, especially since Steve’s classified as one of the staff, not a friend. “Sorry, I’ll just go to my room.”

Tony, whose back is to the wide elevators, turns around and invites Steve. “No, come in. You’ve met Pepper, but not Rhodey. He’s here for the weekend with his fiancé Carol Danvers.”

“Oh, nice to meet you.” Steve shakes hands with both Rhodey (who he learns is James) and Carol (who he learns is also in the Air Force). He eyes Tony, noticing that he’s not wearing his glasses.

Rhodey gestures to the group. “We all know.”

Tony grins at Rhodey. “If they tell anyone, Rhodey promises he’ll shoot them. Won’t you, sweetcakes.”

“No, I won’t Tony.” 

Carol lifts her chin to Steve and his bags. “What ya got there, big guy?”

“Just my duffle and portfolio. I do some comic book drawing on the side.” Steve grips his bag to his side. “Nothing special.” He notices Tony in the background listening. 

“Can we see?” 

“No. I think I’m just gonna put this in my room and get some stuff ready for tomorrow,” Steve says and escapes. He hears a muffled exclaim concerning the status of his manners. His temples sweat as he hears Tony making excuses for his wayward PA. His mother’s disappointment (bless her saintly soul) screams loud in his ears. 

Nevertheless, he successfully escapes and gets to his suite of rooms, which have always been ridiculously huge. He stows his duffle in the closet in the bedroom and places the portfolio on the desk. He slumps down on the bed. He handled that with all the grace of a clown. He’s going to blame it on the horrendous headache lingering from the night’s revelries. Going to the ensuite bath, he downs a few aspirin when someone knocks on his door. 

“Captain Rogers?”

Jarvis. Great – that man hates Steve. He splashes some water on his face, dries, and then goes to the door. “Yes Jarvis.”

“You’re officially on the clock. That means that sir would like you to attend him during his afternoon gathering.” Jarvis glowers at him, just waiting for Steve to refuse or claim otherwise. 

Instead, he salutes the older man. “Be right there. I have to change out of my street clothes.” 

Jarvis scans him up and down and then gives a curt nod of his head and huffs as he leaves. Steve watches him go. Apparently, his performance at the little lunch party was noticed. Steve lets out a sigh that only aggravates his headache. He changes quickly, cursing himself for being excited to see Tony again and at the same time feeling ashamed of himself. He’s a college graduate with a fine arts degree. He was a Captain in the Army. He did tours of duty; he went on missions. He’s not some damsel in distress. After he cleans up, Steve studies himself in the mirror.

“This is what a degree in fine arts gets you, Rogers,” Steve says. Bucky used to bait him all the time about his degree. Not that he was mocking him, but Bucky had always been more practical about his life choices. Look he picked Sam – or Sam picked him. 

“You always dream too big, Stevie.” That what Bucky would say, and now Steve was dreaming about Tony, thinking about his hands on his face, his knee touching Tony’s leg. God, it was like a Victorian romance novel. All those subtle touches and none of the get down to business doing the nasty. Bucky and Sam would be amused. And thus, is the reason he hasn’t shared as much with them.

“Off to the chopping block,” Steve says and straightens the collar of his polo shirt. 

Tony nearly tackles him when he returns to the main living room. He grabs onto Steve’s arm and drags him the rest of the way into the room, whispering how he could hear Steve’s footsteps from a mile away. “Not very stealthy, are you?”

“I didn’t think that was the point. You asked me to wear shoe that would make noise,” Steve replied as Tony leads him into the dining room. 

“We’re having lunch, perhaps you’d like some?” Tony settles at the head of the table while Steve takes the chair directly to his left. 

Eating does not sound like an activity he wants to partake in at this moment. His headache pounds and his stomach flops over. He flinches at the smell of the food. 

“Something wrong?” Rhodey asks as both he and Carol take their seats across from Steve.

“Nothing, just not that hungry,” Steve says and convulsively swallows.

“Maybe it’s the headache or the hangover from your night on the town,” Tony remarks as Jarvis begins to serve. 

“Tony,” Pepper warns. 

“Oh? What? I’d like to hear about Steve’s night with.” Tony turns to Rhodey. “What did the media call him? A brick house? That guy you were with?”

Both Pepper and Rhodey glance down at their plates, eyes everywhere else but focused on Steve and Tony. Carol raises an eyebrow at Tony. “Tones, I think he can do what he wants on his own time.”

“Not if it reflects poorly on me!” Tony claps his hands and Jarvis goes rigid. “J can you bring tablet and call up the link-.”

“Tony, don’t,” Rhodey says and grips Carol’s hand as if to quell her response.

“No, I think this is important for Steve to see,” Tony says. “You do remember what you did last night, right? Steve, you remember?”

Steve inhales and exhales. What stupid crap did he get up to last night and why didn’t Thor warn him? Bucky always told him he couldn’t hold his liquor. Lord, what kind did Thor ladle down his throat last night? Some kind of magical heavy duty mead?

Jarvis comes back with a tablet and hands it to Steve. The screen is frozen on a video that’s been posted to twitter. His face is plastered on the screenshot. 

“I’m sorry, Tony. My friend took me out because I wasn’t feeling too well. It’s-.”

“Watch it,” Tony directs, and it sounds like a command from bootcamp.

Swallowing down the nausea churning in his stomach, Steve hits the arrow to start the video. From the scene it looks like someone from the paparazzi tracked him down in front of his walk up. Thor is nowhere to be found. But Steve – he looks angry and ready to spit fire. 

“Steve Rogers, I’m Christine Everhart, does your beau approve of you spending your time with that mountain of a man I just saw.”

Steve scowls at the camera. He cringes as he watches – he knows that look. It’s the same look he gave bullies for years in back alleys when he routinely got beat up. Lord, please tell him he didn’t hit a lady. 

Steve gulped down his fear as his image in the recording focused on the camera. “I wish. I wish that Tony Stark – the brilliant, beautiful, arrogant, sad man ever saw me as anything but his Personal Assistant. But that’s what I am Chris-Christern, Christy Evermore Everly. Or whatever. But no. No, Tony, Tony, Tony. He doesn’t. You see? He -” He stumbled a little as he spoke. “He doesn’t see me. He can’t see me. He just works and works. He’s changing the world and he never sees me.”

_Oh god!_

He needs to never drink again. Steve shifts in his seat as everyone around the table stares at him like a thousand needles piercing his skin. “I’m sorry, Tony. I drank too much.”

Jarvis intervenes. “If you will, sir, there’s something else.”

God, Jarvis really does hate him. Steve closes his eyes because he can’t stomach it. His headache morphs into a full-blown nuclear explosion in his head. He swears he can feel the beat of his blood in his temples. 

“You should watch this too, Captain Rogers.” Jarvis prods him and Steve acquiesces. What more can he lose?

The screen changes to Christine Everhart again. She’s smiling at the camera. “Since his parents died, Tony Stark has transformed Stark Industries from a warmongering company to a center of innovation. All of us have benefited from Stark phones to Stark computer processors, to the newest invention of virtual reality goggles made for industry. Plus, the newest advances in nanotechnology and artificial intelligence from Stark Industries promise to change the world. But what of Tony Stark? We’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of this playboy who is more a recluse than a party animal. He puts on a good show when he’s controlling the deck, but who is Tony Stark really?

“What we know is that he’s inventing our future leaving little time for anything else. Even his Personal Assistant, former Army Captain Steven Rogers confesses that his feelings go unrequited.” The camera pans out to show she’s standing across the street from Stark Tower. “So much of our future depends on Stark Industries, can we afford not to know more about Tony Stark?”

Steve stares at the screen as it goes black. He doesn’t lift his gaze. The power of their eyes on him, everyone around the table, hurts like a physical pain right under his sternum. He fights silently for air and prays that he’s not about to go into an asthma attack. He shouldn’t, considering it’s triggered by chemicals, but damned if this isn’t a full out assault on him. 

Before he has a chance to say anything, Tony speaks, “Do you want to explain anything, Steve?”

His mouth is dry. His tongue feels like a wad of cotton in his mouth while his throat closes around barbed wire. He clears his throat; it does nothing. “I’ll have my stuff out by the end of the day, sir.” Pushing the chair back, Steve goes to stand but Tony grasps his hand. 

“God, why do you always go with leaving? I thought you stuck up for yourself? I thought you were the kid in the alleyways getting beat up for your morals. I’m not asking you to leave.”

“All I can say is that I was drunk, and I have no excuse for my behavior. I never could hold my liquor and I should have known better,” Steve says. He’s always been one to own up to his mistakes. “I apologize.” He can’t make himself look at Tony.

Pepper is the one who saves him. “I think this is a perfect opportunity, Tony. We can use this to our advantage. You have several new and upcoming developments for the company. Especially your artificial intelligence advances that would change everything in the world and your newest innovations on smart tech. I think we put on a gala. We can use the Autumn gala that the Foundation always puts on.”

“A gala?” Rhodey says.

Still sitting but with his chair pushed out for escape, Steve glances around the table. Everyone is watching him, but with kind almost forgiving eyes. It’s Tony that Steve worries about the most. His expression borders on curious and reminds Steve of when Tony’s puzzling out a problem in the lab. 

“Yes, a gala. The one that benefits the Maria Stark Foundation. We could have an announcement about the upcoming products and advancements. You could host. We could even invite certain members of the press,” Pepper says, and she smiles. Steve catches her expression – she’d been planning this, or wanting to and Steve gave her a perfect opportunity. She winks at him.

Tony grumbles and then says, “Stop it, Pepper. She’s winking at you, isn’t she?” 

Steve can’t help but laugh. The tension tucked up under his sternum might just burst out like an alien if he doesn’t. He squeezes his hand closed and that’s when he realizes Tony still holds his hand. “Sorry,” Steve says and yanks his hand free.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rhodey says. “You need to get out there more. You’ve been hiding out for weeks. The press doesn’t like it.”

“You know the glasses are a problem now. I can’t-.” 

“You don’t have to wear the glasses for the week or so before,” Steve puts in. “I’m here. We’re all here to help you. You can let it go for a while.”

“I won’t be able to use the virtual reality goggles either – all that much. That means I don’t get any work done,” Tony says.

“Well, then,” Jarvis says from his position behind Tony like a sentinel. “How about a little vacation? You can go to your private island. The staff there are all under the same non-disclosure. You should be able to stay for a while.”

Tony weighs the idea. His fingers tap a rhythm on the table. “Do you think we could pull it off by Labor Day?”

“It’ll be close, but we could do it,” Pepper replies. “As long as you leave Jarvis here to help. I can pull in Natasha for security.”

“Invite list?” Tony asks.

“The big players. The Richards, Stone, maybe Hammer-.”

“I hate Hammer, Pepper, you know that.” Tony frowns and then makes gagging noises.

“Well, he always likes to make a big deal about donating. It’s a way to get his money for the Foundation. Oh and the Odinsons from Norway. They are big on clean energy,” Pepper finishes.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says after considering their proposal. “It’ll have to include some other pieces. But we can work on the agenda-.”

“We’ll work on it, you need to lay low,” Pepper replies.

Tony grins and quirks an eyebrow. “And I will. I’m taking Steve with me.” Opening his hand palm up, Tony offers it again to Steve. “Are you ready Steve?”

He’s not sure if this is a date or not. He nods then realizes Tony’s not wearing the glasses. “Whatever you need, Tony.” It’s the least he can do. He’s made such a mess and with that reporter sniffing around, Steve has to step in the role of protecting Tony and his secret. 

“Good, good!” Tony claps his hands together. “Let’s eat.”

It’s not until later that evening when Steve escorts Tony back to his bedroom suite, that he’s alone with his boss again. As he opens the door and guides Tony into the room, Steve summons the courage to broach the subject. It feels a little like the first time he led a mission and he had to order his unit to sneak through enemy lines. “Tony, I wanted to apologize. What happened on that video was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have spoken to the reporter and I know I shouldn’t have said what I said. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Tony tugs off his t-shirt and tosses it on the chair. He knows his way around his suite of rooms without Steve’s help. Steve shies away from looking at Tony, from studying the contours of his muscular though lithe figure. He shouldn’t have the thoughts popping into his brain about his boss. He shouldn’t allow himself to fantasize about touching his biceps, his pectorals, down to the hint of hair below his belly button. 

“Steve, one thing you have to realize that working for me, you need to know how to deal with media. Social media, news media, whatever. They are always after me. I’m a part time celebrity. Not by my own doing, but by the fact I’m successful and my dedication against violence.” Tony settles at the foot of his bed. He removes his shoes. “You’ve been invaluable to me with your artistic and technical insights with the implant. Even though we haven’t solved the problems with it, I’m farther along than I would have been without you.”

“Thank you,” Steve says and rubs his hand down his slacks.

“We might not solve the riddle of the implant, but I can tell you I am not interested in getting rid of you. You’ve helped me with the migraines, you’ve been there with the panics attacks I get. You’re a good PA. I get that dealing with the media can make you run at the mouth and you didn’t mean what you said.” 

Steve bites back his response. Telling his boss that he finds him attractive and intriguing will just set him back to square one or even throw him out. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“Talk to Pepper or Rhodey. See how they deal with the media hounds.” He waves at Steve. “Now, I need to rest. We’ll plan the trip in the morning.”

“Once again, thank you for understanding.” Steve stops himself from doing a little bow. He’s not a servant and this isn’t Victorian times. “Good night, Tony.”

“Night Steve.”

It’s only a few feet to his room, but his feet drag, and he wishes he said something, anything that’s real. Steve always tries to live by the truth, but now he’s hiding something. Yet it doesn’t feel like he should confess. What is there to confess? He’s hot for his boss? He shakes his head as he locks the door to his room and goes to undress. Before he even gets his shirt off his phone chimes. Picking it up, he notes the caller. With a huge sigh, he answers the phone.

“Hey Sam.”

“Sorry, Steve. I saw the video. It’s all over the internet.” 

Steve lies down on the bed; eyes closed. “Doesn’t matter. I should listen to Bucky and not drink.” He hears a snicker in the background. “Tell Bucky he’s a jerk.”

“I tell him every day. You gonna be okay?”

Steve shrugs. “Gotta be. Boss wants to take a trip and I’m going with him.”

“Oh Steve.” That’s Bucky in the background again – but this time it’s not mockery, it’s genuine concern.

“Tell Bucky, it’s okay. It’s not like I’m carrying a torch for Tony. I was just drunk.”

Sam huffs into the receiver. “He’s rolling his eyes so much I think he can see his brain matter.”

“Very funny. Are we done?”

Sam pauses before he answers, “Are you? Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not a big deal Sam. I don’t even know why I said that. I just work with the guy like 24/6. It’s a lot of one on one time, so my drunk brain latched onto it. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He throws his one arm over his eyes. Maybe he doesn’t want to face the world right now.

“You always say you’re fine and then things start falling apart.”

“Really this time. It’s just being drunk and inappropriate. Maybe a little lonely. That’s all.” He hits on an idea to get them to stop badgering him about the recording. “I probably need some friends time. How about after Labor Day we get together? That weekend after? Maybe I can get two days off in a row.”

“Get three and come on down here, okay?” Sam says.

“Deal.”

“Deal. Night Steve.”

“Good night Sam. Tell that stinker Bucky, good night too.”

“I will.”

The line goes dead and Steve stays on the bed, staring into the darkness and wondering how he can stop his mind from craving something he can never have.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s the last time he’ll wear his glasses for nearly a month. It’s been years since he experienced total and abiding blindness. Instead of running for the hills, Tony wants to stay put and work on his upgrades, but even he isn’t that arrogant to not recognize the fact that he’s coming up to the finish line and he has to accept defeat. It’s going to take more than sheer willpower to fix the implant, to overcome the immune response, to fix his issues. Translating intelligently designed microchips into biochemical signals is the stuff of Noble prizes. The idea that Tony would succeed in a few months has always been ludicrous. Now he has to stop using the glasses for weeks so that when he re-appears in public to answer the media, he presents as a fully sighted man. If anyone figures out otherwise then he might lose his company and his fortune.

There’s always Strange’s proposal. It’s intriguing and he’s doing his homework on the whole science of virotherapy. Right now, it’s a far-off distant probability that Tony refuses to factor into his life. It means giving up on the implant, it means taking a chance that he will lose what sight he has forever. How can he see the future without his sight? A shiver runs down his spine. Tony doesn’t like uncertainties. He hates not being able to formulate the future. All future is possibilities. All possibilities can be calculated. Calculation is his language. Figuring it out, child’s play.

Well, things aren’t that easy. Feed up with the dances of worries in his head, Tony finds his way down to his lab. A few hours playing with the virtual reality set up might calm his nerves. When he picks up the gear, he hears someone curse in the art room. “Steve?”

“Huh? Oh,” Steve says and peeks his head around the corner. “Tony. I thought you would be getting ready. Packed and all. I just wanted to finish up some work.” 

Tony joins Steve in his art room. The place is an orderly catastrophe. Even though there’s a mess in the room, Tony identifies the management of the chaos. In some ways, Steve’s military training supersedes his artistic leanings, in other ways it does not. Across the drafting table, where Steve’s sitting are panels of sketches. Hand drawn of a superhero in a tin can.

“What’s this?” Tony pages through the sketches. 

Steve shrugs as if he’s trying to work off the attention. “Just some doodles. The independent comic book company I do free-lance for happened to be really pleased with my work on their launch books, so they said if I came up with a storyline and some sketches they might consider doing a book.”

“Your own comic book? Your own creation?” Tony smiles and Steve sits up properly as if his acceptance means the world to Steve. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He touches the pages tenderly, a treasuring his creation. “Just a little idea I had.”

“Tell me about it?” Tony places the panels down and Steve orders them.

“So no one knows who Iron Man is.” Steve flips to the first page. “Some people think he’s a robot savior, others think he might be an AI.”

“But he’s not,” Tony says with a wink.

“No. He’s a man seeking redemption, but he won’t admit it. He won’t tell anyone he’s Iron Man. He keeps it secret.” Steve shuffles the panels and shows Tony some of the storyline. 

“What’s he seeking redemption for?” Tony concentrates on the panels. With printed or hand drawn materials the glasses are always a little finicky – he has to adjust the parameters so that the read out doesn’t warp. He taps the side of the frames, zeroing in like someone would for binoculars. “There. Better.”

“A few things. He lost a lot during the war.” Steve points out an early panel. “He sold weapons as a weapons dealer. Then he found out how the weapons were being used and he nearly died in an explosion of his own weapon, giving him an artificial heart he designed and it powers the suit of armor.”

“Wow!” Tony grins. “I would have eaten this up as a kid. This is fantastic stuff, Steve.” 

“Thanks.” Steve beams. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so relaxed and so happy to share something with him. Most of their days together consist of brainstorming and problem solving. He thinks the look of Steve in hard concentration might be the one he knows the best. This glowing expression is new, and it warms something deep in Tony’s chest.

“Well, I mean it Steve. This is great stuff. To write and to draw the comics, that’s a rare thing. That’s Stan Lee quality there.” He spreads the panels out. Over the past month, Steve worked as his technical artist, but Tony never dreamed that he had such skill. “You have a degree in fine arts?” 

“Yeah.” Steve packs up his comic portfolio. “Just can’t make a living in it. I paint but not often enough anymore. Just no time with trying to make ends meet. That is until I got this job.” Steve zips closed the cheap leather case and Tony wonders if it’s the last time he’ll be able to see his art. Something hard and cold sits like ice in his chest. He rubs at his sternum and then turns away.

“Well, wheels up in four hours, so let’s get finished packing.”

“We’re going to an island?” Steve asks as Tony leaves the room.

“Not the kind you think. We’re going to an island in the Northern Atlantic. It’s not all that warm there.”

Steve slings the bag over his shoulder. “Why did I think we were going somewhere tropical?”

Tony winks. “Because everyone thinks about the Caribbean when you talk about private islands. Sure, I have one down there, but I prefer the quiet one up in the Northern Atlantic in the summer. You’ll see.”

Heading to his suite of rooms, Tony meets Jarvis as he closes the suitcases. “All finished here, sir. Is there anything else?”

“Other than I wish it was January?” Tony says as he steps up to the windows of his bedroom. The city lies before him like a sleeping steel monster. As a child he thought of it as some mythical beast, a living breathing creature ready to rise up from the waters of the Hudson and roar its disapproval of humans. He smiles. “If it was January, I’d use the glasses one last time to see the Northern Lights.”

Jarvis steps up to his side and places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Though Jarvis has always been the one person in Tony’s life whom he thought of as a father in many ways, Jarvis has always been bound by his own rules of conduct and civility. He nearly never touched Tony without his permission. Tony looks at Jarvis – a face kind and aged. The silver in his hair and the lines around his eyes don’t speak of an older generation to Tony but tell him a story of a life lived with experience and compassion. It’s what Tony has aspired to all these years since the crash. He only hopes that Jarvis is proud of him, what he’s done with his life.

“Why you think your life will be over if you cannot see, I don’t know.” Jarvis squeezes his shoulder. “You are a remarkable man, Anthony. One who the world looks up to and asks to lead. You are much more than your sight.”

“I’m not sure I can do anything for anyone if I can’t-.” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Seeing the future has nothing to do with your eyes and everything to do with your brain, your mind. And you have always been astonishing in that regard.” He pats Tony’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get you situated. Mister Hogan will be round with the car soon enough.” Jarvis moves off to finish his tasks and Tony turns to watch him. 

He’ll miss seeing his face most he thinks.

At 4 o’clock in the afternoon Tony’s private jet takes off. They’ll land in Newfoundland and then take a boat out to his island the next day. Technically, he doesn’t own the island. It’s under Canada’s jurisdiction, but everything on the island is owned by Stark Industries and his personal estate. It’s in the low 70sF, around 22C, when the boat launches and Steve is standing at the bow of the boat, the waves crashing. The air whips his hair around and Tony joins him. He’s still wearing his glasses and knows when they step foot on the island, he has to part with them. The weeks without them hopefully, will give him a break and will allow for him to wear the glasses for a prolonged period of time during the gala.

“It’s beautiful, Tony.” Steve braces against the chilled winds. “But the sky, it’s so different.”

“Like it’s October. It’s an Autumn sky. That’s the way it is here in August. Beautiful, forbidding. It reminds me of Norway in some ways,” Tony says as he clutches the railing.

Over the engine sounds and the splash of the ocean around them, Steve says, “Never been to Norway. Went to the hotbed places in the Army.”

“You didn’t travel?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. I had to pay off mom’s medical expenses after she died. There were a lot of bills.”

“Well, you stick with me, you might see the world,” Tony replies and the glow of Steve’s smile roots out some of the doubt and fears that clench at his heart. 

When the boat docks, a tall, lanky man with multi-colored clothing greets them. “Sir, it’s great to have you back.”

“Vision, this is Steve. He’s my Personal Assistant and as such will be given all the privileges and access that I have on the island and in the estate.”

Vision nods. “Will you be with us for long, sir?”

“A little less than a month,” Tony says and then touches the frame of his glasses. He’s worn them too long over the last few days. The headaches pound a beat in his whole skull. “And I won’t be sighted during the time I’ll be here. Ensure that we have minimal staff and the staff we have are under the Non-disclosure agreement with background checks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Steve?” 

From behind, Steve steps to Tony’s side on the dock. “I’m here.”

Tony slips off the glasses, saying goodbye to his sight. The wash of too white light overcomes him for a moment before he’s able to blink away the fear. “Take these. Do you have my regular sunglasses?”

“Here.” Steve cups Tony’s hand and places them in his palm. Steve’s fingers brush against Tony’s palm. He feels the slight writer’s (artist’s) bump on his middle right finger. He’d never noticed it before with the glasses.

“Thanks,” Tony says and puts the glasses on. “Lead the way.”

“Sir, I will get the bags and then introduce you to Wanda who will be the main chef for your stay. She’s already under contract and signed all the required documents. All is in order.”

“Thank you, Vision.”

Steve leads the way up the floating deck toward the estate. Tony grasps his upper arm, knowing the steps and where he’s going makes it a little easier. After they disembark from the deck to the stone steps, Steve instructs Tony as they climb to the house. “There’s ten flat stone steps up the hill.”

“Thank you.” 

“It’s weird.”

“The steps? They’re flat stones from the water’s edge. How can they be weird?” Tony says while internally counting. Five, six, seven.

“Step off to ten,” Steve says and then waits as Tony finds his footing on the grassy path to the house. “No. Not the steps. That your butler here is named Vision. That doesn’t strike you as strange?”

Tony shrugs as Steve continues to assist him over the uneven ground. “Vision is part of some European band or something. He likes the name. I don’t know. He’s Jarvis’ nephew. He only hangs out here to help because he needs the money.” Steve chuckles a little and some hope that Tony didn’t even know he had withers on the vine. “How’s that funny?”

“We’re at the house. The door. There’s a keypad. There’s no braille.”

“That’s fine.” Tony feels the pad and then hits the bottom button. It vibrates and then rotates the interface so that it asks for a palm print. He places his hand on the surface and the door unlocks.

Steve leads Tony into the mud room and then they enter the main kitchen. Tony knows the place like the back of his hand, he designed it. When he first purchased the land, he had one of the best architects in the business work with him on the plans. The main floor invites the occupants and visitors with its open spaces and high ceilings. Tony kept to a clean line design with modern features but also brought in the rustic feel of the Canadian wilderness, adding exposed beams and a natural stone fireplace that reaches up to the second floor. On the second floor with its open staircase and landing to the first floor, there are five bedrooms and five full baths. Each room has its own ensuite. The basement floor or really the ground floor from the street in front of the house has Tony’s workshop and a three car garage. 

“Where would you like to go?” Steve asks as he stands in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“If you’ve finished marveling at the kitchen can we go to the back porch. I’d like to listen to the ocean for a bit while I get my bearings.” 

“Back porch?”

“Off the living room,” Tony says and nods toward what he hopes is the general direction of the open living room, dining room area. 

“Right, okay.” Steve brings Tony through the living room, navigating around the furniture, telling him what they are passing along the way. “How’d you know I was marveling?”

Tony grins and bows his head. “Your breathing always accelerates when you’re excited.”

“Can you blame me? This is the stuff of classic novels. You know the wilds of Canada?” Steve says and then adds, “And that kitchen is really out of this world Tony.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Tony steps over the sliding glass door frame as Steve directs him and then he ushers him to one of the porch lounges. Tony sits down and then pulls out his phone. Pressing the button, he says, “Friday let’s do some work on the coding for the smart streets application I’ve been working on.”

“I thought there was no working,” Steve says. 

“You know you make a better door than a window, Steve.” Tony waves at him to move aside. 

“I don’t think that’s a problem for you.”

“It is if you’re making it 10 degrees cooler with your fucking broad shoulders. Now move. I have work to do.” Tony feels the sun shift on his face again and mutters a thank you as he stuffs the earbuds in. He needs to concentrate; normally he uses the virtual goggles interface and without that he’s stick with either using the gloves alone or nothing at all. Since he didn’t unpack his gloves yet, he just closes his eyes, lays back, and works with Friday over the next few hours. It takes all his memory power to go through the codes. He’s trained fairly extensively on memory techniques. Nothing like that stupid ‘mind palace’ shit but using his mathematical skills he’s fashioned ways to memorize lines of code as he works. 

He’s halfway through correcting a string of code when someone taps him on the shoulder. “Tony?”

“Yes?” He plucks out one earbud.

“Vision said that Wanda’s almost done with the lunch. She wanted to know if you want your lunch out here or would you prefer the dining room?” Steve asks. He’s a little more timid in his question than normal. 

Tony bites back his immediate reply. After a second thought, he asks, “The umbrella table and chairs are still out here with a good view of the ocean, right?”

“Through the pine trees, yes,” Steve says. He shuffles on his feet a few times. “Are you okay? I mean can you do this?”

“What you mean not wear the glasses for an extended period of time?” He stands up from the lounge chair and slips his phone in his pocket along with his earbuds. “Oh sure, I love it. Going au natural. Lots of fun.”

“Tony.”

“Don’t give me that tone, Rogers. I don’t intend to have you seeing people tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. You don’t get it. I am not living in your world. I live in a completely different world. One that’s not made for me. Your world is made for you, I have to pretend every fucking day that I can handle this.” Tony puts his hand up. “Just don’t. Don’t test me on this one.”

After a long pause, Steve says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business. Would you like assistance to the table?”

With a straightening of his shoulders, Tony says, “Yes, please.”

Tony gets in position and Steve leads him to the table, helping him adjust the chair to sit down. As he does, he tells Steve to sit to his left. A scrap of the metal chair on the wooden deck and then Steve’s settled next to him. Vision sets the platters of food on the table with dishes and glasses of pink lemonade, he narrates all his actions before he departs. 

“There’s several types of wraps on the platter, Tony. One looks like a beef and provolone wrap with bell peppers, another is a turkey – probably roasted – with an avocado spread, and the last one looks like a chicken salad make with sliced red grapes and celery, I think. Also, there’s a fruit salad on the side. What would you like?” Steve asks. 

“Turkey please.”

“Fruit salad?” 

“Not right now,” Tony says and listens as Steve sets the plate in front of him. 

“Wrap is in the middle of your plate.”

“What are you going to have?” Tony touches the rim of the plate with his thumb, getting an idea for the circumference. The wrap is warm and the avocado just the right amount of spicy. 

“Probably the beef. Pink lemonade at your 11 o’clock.”

“Don’t tell Wanda, but I hate pink lemonade. It’s like battery acid only worse because it’s supposed to be tasty.” He gags a little but sips at the glass anyhow. It does taste terrible. 

Steve stays quiet through most of the meal, only asking Tony if he needs assistance and offering directions when needed. Eventually he dusts his hand off and says, “Tony, this isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me to want the best for you. I’m not here to push my agenda on you, I’m just trying to do my best to assist you. That’s what you hired me for, right?”

“That’s true.” Tony listens to the ocean as it crashes against the dock, the shore. There isn’t a beach here, just rocks and jetties. “I did hire you to assist, but I don’t need your pop psychology. I didn’t ask for that.”

“That’s not what I’m offering. But I do know it’s going to be hard for you this month of no glasses. And I just want you to know, I am here for you.”

“Yes, because I pay you to be here for me.”

Dead silence answers him. 

“You know what I mean?” Tony finally says because the weight of the silence bullies him into it.

“Yes, I do.” He hears the scrap of Steve’s chair against the wood. “If you don’t need me anymore-.”

Tony puts up his hands in surrender. “Stop. That was rude of me. I know-.”

“Tony, we’ve spent the better part of a month together, night and day. We’ve eaten together, I’ve helped you pick out clothes, I tied your tie. I take care of you during your migraines. I’ve tried to be a good Personal Assistant, but also, a friend. I thought. That’s on me, I always end up blurring professional and personal relationships, that’s my fault. Not yours. I’m sorry.” The splurge of dialogue ends and Steve gulps in two quick breaths before releasing them in a low exhale. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“Did you mean it?” Tony says. Clouds pass over the sun and it gets cooler, cooler than an August day.

“What I just said? Well, yes. I’ve tried to do my best for you, to be a good per-.”

“No, what you said in the recording? How I don’t see you and you want me to see you?” Tony asks. He plays with his cloth napkin. Maybe he doesn’t want to broach the subject so intimately, so he steers it in another direction. “Is it the way rich people treat all servants? Is that how I act?”

“What? Wait. No. That’s not it at all.” Steve drops down back into his chair. “You treat everyone like family, Tony. I was drunk. Really, really drunk.”

“Do you often get drunk?” Tony knows he’s treading on territory that’s questionable for an employer. The wind blows over the table, rattling the umbrella.

“No, not at all. Like I said Bucky, my friend, always said I couldn’t hold my liquor. Truth be told,” he clears his throat, “I was a little depressed. I was thinking about someone I lost and the fact I was alone and a friend, a close friend, brought me out. I drank too much. I spoke out of turn.”

Tony waits as the scent of the ocean along with the pine trees mix. In his blind isolation, he welcomed the feel of the world around him. He needs it to ground himself, to place himself. “You know when we first met, I told you my circadian rhythm was really screwed up. It’s not only that, I get disoriented about where I am sometimes. I depend a lot on people, how they react and how they interact with me. You’ve been very grounding, Steve. I just don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate you, see you.”

“I know, Tony. I get it.” Steve’s tone placates but also whispers toward acceptance and loss at the same time. “Now, let me get the dishes cleared and I’ll bring you something else to drink. What would you like?”

The moment lost, Tony asks for iced coffee. He spends the rest of the day working with Friday and Steve on the artificial intelligence upgrades and the smart street applications. Later, when dinner is done and they are sitting in front of the fireplace, Tony relaxes with a brandy. 

“Don’t suppose you’re going to want one?” Tony says as Steve pours the brandy.

“I can handle one drink,” Steve says. “But I’m not a fan of brandy, so I’ll pass.”

“You’re a heathen,” Tony says and leans back on the cushion. “Maybe this will help the headache.”

“You still have a headache?” 

“I wore the glasses for way too long yesterday and into today. It’s really painful.” He sighs.

Steve takes the brandy out of his hand. “Then I don’t think this is the way to go.” 

“You’re not my mother, Steve. Or my caretaker. I don’t need one.” Tony hears a chair being dragged across the hardwood floor. “Careful with the floor. I just had it refinished.”

“Sorry.” He sets the chair next to Tony’s recliner, hits the switch to have the chair automatically go into the reclining position. “Let me take care of the headache, okay?”

Tony wants to grumble and complain but he finds himself relaxing further as Steve’s fingers massage his scalp. He’s tender in his touch and part of Tony wishes, as a blind man, that he had such talented fingers. He’s always been too busy, too fast, too eager to consume to be so quiet and gentle with anything. The pain may not go away completely, but the rhythm of Steve’s touch lulls Tony.

“Tomorrow maybe we should go boating or for a hike.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve says. “Is it okay to go for a hike? No one will see us?”

“Nope, whole island just for us.”

“Hmm,” Steve murmurs and continues the ballet with his fingers across Tony’s scalp.

“You know I do think of you as more than just my Personal Assistant, Steve,” Tony says. His eyes closed; he’s not straining for something that’s not there. “You’re a friend at the very least. You’ve been a talented asset. As well as a caring assistant. You’re important to me. I think Pepper and I made a good decision when we hired you.”

“Thanks,” Steve says though his words sound anything but grateful.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Maybe I hope for something a little more authentic.” Steve stops for a moment, but the starts up again. “Strike that. I have no business asking that of you.”

“Well, that’s good because I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean.” He yawns. “God, I’m tired. I hate these headaches. They take so much out of me, plus trying to remember all the code all the time is fucking impossible.”

“I could work with you more on it. Work in front of a screen and dictate what’s where. We could use a little teamwork.” Steve begins the facial massage and Tony swears that the man could make millions if he wanted to with his hands. His hands are miracles, his thoughts drift further as Steve talks about the code, about all they could do together. 

“Yes, together,” Tony says. He swallows down the words because together can mean so many different things. Imagining these hands, hands with such skill, stroke down his chest, touching him, caressing him lower until -. He moves away from Steve’s touch. “Yeah, together.” He mutters and then adds, “Glad you’re with me here.”

“Why does it sound like your Frodo and I’m Samwise?” Steve asks. “I hope you don’t think like that. That you’re Frodo with an evil ring to bear?”

Tony rubs his hands through his hair, surely messing it. “No. No. It’s not that. You think I have some weakness. That’s how able-bodied people look at us, the ‘disabled’. That we have some weakness that makes us less. Or you think we succeed despite it and that makes us some holier, sacrificial martyr type person. Neither is true. We’re trying to get along in a world not made for us, sure, but we’re still every bit the same as you are. It’s the world that has the weakness, not us.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. His voice is quiet and thoughtful. “I’m starting to understand that.” His fingers pause in their magical work on Tony’s temples. “Is it okay if I touch your face?”

Tony makes an encouraging noise and then says, “Yes.”

He starts with a gentle press of circles on Tony’s cheekbones. “Then why is it, you’ve denied being blind? I think I know I just don’t want to presume.”

“It’s easy. The world would see me as less. My company would get a boon out of it at first and then it would slowly collapse. Or that’s what all the analyses said when I ran them years ago,” Tony says and sinks further into the calming massage. 

“You ran them or did someone else?” Steve asks.

“I had a professor I know, Bruce Banner, have his class run the analyses. He teaches biomedical shit but also has to teach a biostat class once a year. All the analyses came out the same.” 

“All run by sighted people,” Steve adds. “Might want to reconsider that.”

“Not sure it would make much difference.” 

“Are you so sure? They made assumption about your abilities, your limitations. All of which would end up affecting the outcomes,” Steve says and stops.

Tony wants to pout but he’s too intrigued by Steve’s hypothesis. “I hadn’t considered that at all.” Does he want to go down the pathway? Is being blind in public even an option for him? For these past 10 years it hasn’t been, he’s paid hundred of thousands of dollars to ensure no one would speak of it. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “How are you feeling now?”

“Frustrated.” Tony moves the chair to the upright position. 

“No, I mean the headache.”

“Headache is okay. Lot less tension. I swear you could patent your hands,” Tony replies. He reaches out and Steve lays his fingers in Tony’s palm. He cups them with his other hand. Tony runs his fingers up the length and back of Steve’s hand, over the hill of his knuckles and to the tendons. His thumb cups underneath and slowly strokes Steve’s palm. A slight quaver and Tony desperately wants to know what Steve’s eyes look like. Are his eyes large and dark? Is there curiosity there or yearning? He tells himself that if he could read what Steve’s expression is then he would understand his own feelings – the deep need inside of him that tightens and coils. These hands have meant the world to him, a portal to the world. They’ve been there to calm and soothe him, to guide and assist him. Always gentle yet firm. He can only imagine what talents they might possess.

“Tony?” Steve’s tone edges, heavy and husky. 

“You’ve help me a lot,” Tony whispers and lets his hands glide upward to Steve’s face as he stands. Beneath him Steve quakes ever so slightly. “I mean it when I say that you’re important to me, Steve.”

“Tony.” Steve swallows and then closes his eyes as Tony searches his face with his hands, fingers like a dancer fulfilling the steps of some choreography. 

Someone clears their throat and Tony jumps away from Steve. “What? What is it?”

“Hmm, sir, I just wanted to tell you I’ve turned down your bed and laid out your clothes as Vision taught me.”

“Who?” Tony grips Steve’s hand. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry, sir, I’m Wanda’s brother, Pietro. I didn’t mean-.”

“Vision just let you in here? You can’t be in here!” Tony yells and Steve grasps his shoulder keeping him in place. But there’s nowhere he can really go – not at all. He’s trapped by his blindness. This man, this stranger presents a danger and Tony can’t escape it. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I-.”

“Get out!” Tony yells. “Get out of my house!” 

He hears a chair fall and feet scramble as the intruder leaves. It doesn’t matter. His heart tenses in his chest and his breath comes in small, useless pants. Cold sweat shivers over him and Steve gathers him to his chest. Shudders vibrate through him, mimicking the skipping of his heart. 

“Shh. Tony, it’s fine. It’s okay. I’ll find out what’s going on.” Steve strokes his hair and presses Tony’s head to his chest. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not. It’s not. Don’t tell me it’s okay-.” Tony moves away but Steve holds him, keeps him close, and he cannot deny that he wants to be here, he needs the comfort that Steve offers him. 

“Why don’t you sit down and rest. I’ll go ask Vision what’s going on. Okay?” Steve waits, so patiently for him that Tony feels a bit embarrassed. He manages to nod and then Steve has him settle back into the recliner. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Tony listens to his feet whisper away, all the time aching for his glasses. He needs them. If he’d had them this stranger, this interloper wouldn’t have seen him in his most vulnerable state. What had he been thinking? Going away, pretending, playing house with Steve as a blind man. This idea was all madness, is all madness. He needs to get out of here and get his fucking glasses back. As he stands up, he hears the distinct footsteps of Vision and Steve.

“Sir, I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize. You have someone here that disrupts my privacy. That’s unforgivable. I don’t care that you’re Jarvis’ nephew, the fact that you don’t take your responsibilities ser-.”

“Tony. Please listen to what Vision wants to tell you,” Steve says, and it just incites Tony.

“No. I won’t listen to any of you. You’re all my employees. All of you. I asked, no. I demand privacy and you broke that, Vision, by bringing someone into the house that-.”

“He was not responsible, it was I.” A different voice, a female voice. Wanda – the chef. The interruption takes him aback and he flails mentally trying to catch up as she continues to speak. “Pietro is my brother and I should have asked for permissions. But I did not. Vision was kind enough to allow my brother to learn from him and to teach him. Pietro will not disclosure your secrets. He will sign the same forms I have.”

“Will is the operative word here,” Tony snaps. “That means he hasn’t, yet!”

“This is completely my fault, sir. I should have had everything in order when you arrived. I thought I had. I thought all of the staff had signed. But the haste-.” 

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ll deal with this tomorrow. Steve, please assist me to my room.”

There’s a moments of hesitation before Steve reacts, but then he steps over to Tony’s side and offers him his arm. Tony grasps his bicep and Steve directs them to the stairs. He quietly counts them off for Tony as they turn and then make the second floor. Vision calls from the first floor.

“I made up the master suite, sir. East.”

Steve ushers them in the correct direction, leading Tony down the wide hallway to the main bedroom suite. While there are 5 bedrooms with baths, the master suite is the largest. They walk into a vestibule area with a closet on the left-hand side with a small alcove on the right for hanging coats and jackets. 

With practiced skill, Steve leads Tony through the vestibule to the sitting room that includes a smaller version of the stone fireplace in the living room with a large screen television over the mantle and comfortable chairs scattered around. Wide sliding glass doors open to the balcony at the back of the house. Steve guides Tony to his bedroom through the living space. He stops.

“Your bed is in front of you, only about a meter. Pietro was correct he laid out your clothes exactly as you like. The bed’s turned down. Would you like me to check the bathroom?”

“I want a drink and for you to stop speaking so formally to me,” Tony says and unclamps his hand from Steve’s arm. He hadn’t realized he was nearly locked onto it. He heads to the bar he knows is close to the windows of the bedroom. With deft hands, he finds the bottle of Scotch and a tumbler. 

“No, thank you, sir. If there isn’t anything else, I’ll be going to bed.”

“Steve?” Tony stops prepping the drink. “Sir? You called me sir. What’s this all about?”

A sharp intake of breath and then a more subtle release. “Nothing. I just don’t want to overstep my boundaries. I understand I’m your employee.”

“God, no. That was for them-.”

“They aren’t your slaves, Tony. You can’t treat them like that.” 

“I didn’t say that. But they are my employees and I ask them to follow my rules. I never inferred that they are anything but employees.” Tony gulps back the last of it; Steve is more, not an employee, not a friend.

“You treated them like they were servants.”

“They are,” Tony says. “I might be close to Jarvis, but hell I barely know Vision. I pay him a huge sum of money to live here and take care of this place while I’m not around. I pay him at least 10 times what others in his position would get. Why? So he will be loyal, because in this day and age you have to pay for loyalty Steve. I don’t know if you get that or not. But that’s the way it is.” 

“People are loyal to you even without being paid to do it, Tony. I don’t think you get that. Pepper, Happy, myself. I would never leak your secret.” 

“But there are others who would,” Tony says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight.” Steve moves to leave.

Tony catches him. “Maybe tomorrow we can work on the code, together. If you don’t mind, if the offer is still on the table.”

A breath and then, “Of course it is. See you tomorrow, Tony.”

“Goodnight Steve.”

How much did he just fuck that up? Tony drops onto the bed, which he shouldn’t do. He’s messing up his clothes and he doesn’t give a shit. He lies down and stares into the blindness. It’s never entirely just black or just white, but shades of gray swirling before his eyes. He used to try and say they were shapes of things and people, but it isn’t. It’s like an ever present after image. It taunts him with hope and gives him nothing but ash in return. The ash burns his throat and weakens his resolve. He’s stronger than this, he knows it. He’s always been a man of action. He’s wanted to present himself that way to the world for all these years. He thinks most of his friends see him that way, he thinks Steve does too.

Steve.

He’s really fucked things up. Tony’s not the man he lashed out as in the living room tonight. He respects people. He climbs up, feels his way to the bathroom and turns on the faucets. He lets the water run until it’s too hot and splashes the water on his face, hissing as he does. Rhodey once told him it would come back to bite him.

“You gotta deal with this Tones. This isn’t right. You’re hating on yourself.”

“No, I’m supporting myself,” Tony had said as they worked out how he would deal with the interface. Rhodey had been one of his first collaborators. 

“You’re really not,” Rhodey said. “You’re better than this.”

Tony had gotten right into Rhodey’s face. “Look at me, Rhodey. Look at me! Do you see a man who’s ready to give up? I’m not. This is me. I’m fixing it.”

“You can’t fix something that’s not broken, Tones.”

Tony turned around then, picked up a wrench and threw it across the room. He had been lucky not to hit anyone. “Don’t tell me what’s broken and what’s not.”

Rhodey left him then, it had been days before they spoke, and when they did his friend had been distant and hesitant to really approach the subject. He always pushed it away. He knew better. The implant and the glasses were an outstanding invention that could change the world for the blind and visually impair. If he could make them work, if he could fix them. Tony might be able to fix himself.

“Can fix yourself if there’s nothing broken,” Tony mutters and turns off the water. He tugs off his shirt and drops it on the floor. He drags himself back to the bed and falls onto it. He’ll deal with it all tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

The first few days at the cabin end up being difficult, but Steve keeps telling himself that Tony needs time to adjust, to accept himself. Without the glasses, Tony becomes almost sullen, even angry at times. There were many days in the past that Tony didn’t use the glasses, mainly due to their detrimental effects on his health. Steve discovers that this is different, Tony’s processing something he’d never given himself to deal with in all the years since the accident. Even trying to contemplate the idea of being in denial for that long doesn’t compute with Steve, but then he’s not the one to deal with it. He shouldn’t judge. 

Remarkably, the turning point comes when Steve escorts Tony on a walk across the island. There are footpaths from the docks to the house and then out to the different areas of the shoreline. There are a few other houses on the island – all lived in by the staff who care for the estate. Most of them have been vacated during Tony’s stay, but a few are still occupied. Mainly with Wanda, her brother, and Vision. After the first night’s explosion, Vision had been able to get Pietro’s documents in order and Tony prodded Steve to check them. He truly hated that job because he wasn’t a lawyer and said as much to Tony. Tony only waved him off and told him he needed someone to check it and he would have the attorneys look at it once they sent the documents to Pepper. Everything did end up checking out. Pietro was in and so they had a staff of three on property. 

For the first week, Tony stayed cooped up in the house, never venturing farther than the patio or balcony. Steve finally convinced him to go on a walk. As they leave the house, Steve asks, “Do you want a hoodie? It’s a little on the cooler side today?”

“Are you wearing one?” Tony adjusts his sunglasses.

“Yeah, I kind of like it. Makes me feel cozy. But then again, I don’t like it to be cold,” Steve replies and touches Tony’s hand with the hoodie. “You’re favorite MIT one.”

Tony runs his fingers over the embroidered emblem and letters. “How do you know it’s my favorite.”

“Jarvis packed it, I figured he’d only put your favorites in the suitcase.”

Tony simply nods and then slips it on with no help from Steve. He’s learned over the past month or so when to help and when to stand back and wait to see if Tony wants assistance. “This will be fun,” Tony says, and he sounds anything but convinced. 

“Where would you like to go first,” Steve says, and he tries to stay chipper about it. As he glances around the wooded island, he admits to himself that he loves the peace and solitude, so different from the fast pace of the city. He barely ever got a chance to hike and hang out in the woods as a child.

“There’s a footpath to the north shore of the island. Nice cliffs to the ocean,” Tony says. He doesn’t mention how it might be a good view as well, and Steve keeps quiet about it.

“Great. We can have a picnic.”

“Not again with the picnic.” Tony grabs Steve’s arm and uses a standard white cane as they take to the footpath. 

“Well, if at first you don’t succeed.” He shoulders the backpack with the light lunch he packed and begins to scan the pathway ahead for any objects in the way. “Step down.”

Tony follows and taps with this cane to find his footing. “So, why comic books?”

“Hmm?” Steve pushes a branch out of the way. 

“Comic books. I understand you’re a pretty good artist. I’ve seen some of your work. Why comic books?”

“I think I said something in the past, but mainly to pay the bills. I couldn’t get a showing to save my life with fine arts. Step up on a rock about 3 inches.” Steve waits as Tony follows. “Present position excepted; I don’t really love technical drawing. That was out. I love stories. And I’m working on the one now.”

“I noticed,” Tony says. “It’s quite remarkable.”

“Thanks.” They come upon a small brook. It’s not even a foot wide but Steve stops and eyes it. “We have a small stream. You’ll need to step over it. To miss completely about a foot and a half. I’ll for first.” Like a pro, Tony manages the stream without a problem. Steve beams but doesn’t compliment Tony because he might take offense to it. 

“You don’t like technical drawing?” Tony asks as they get back on the dry path again.

“Not really. It’s fine working with you because it’s a challenge and I get to use problem solving skills on top of creativity. It’s fun. But most technical drawing is for different instructions or technical booklets. There’s not much creativity. Plus, with you I’m learning a lot from robotics to AI to biochemistry. It’s really fascinating.” Steve lifts a branch as they continue through the wooded area. Tony stays quiet and Steve can’t tell if he’s contemplative or just depressed. “So, what made you buy this island?”

“Mainly I wanted a place to get away that no one would look for me. It’s remote, it’s cold. No one would want it. No one actually did want it. I got it for a song.” Tony knocks a tree log with his cane and then steps over it. “It’s perfect really. I thought about moving here, permanently at one point.”

“It’s a safe house for you, isn’t it?” Steve asks. This island, this little slice of paradise isn’t a vacation spot, but a haven. It’s somewhere Tony can escape to and hide. A reclusive home in a remote area of the Labrador Sea. 

“Something like that.” Tony sniffs the air. “We’re getting closer to the ocean.”

Steve looks through the dense tree line and sees a glimpse of an open field and a sketch of a blue horizon. “I think so. Just this way.” He guides Tony through the end of the footpath to the clearing that leads to the cliff. It’s bright and beautiful. Stunning and overwhelming. The crash of the ocean below mixes with the chilled north wind. It bites the skin and Steve blinks his eyes against the piercing cold. Steve doesn’t walk them up to the edge of the cliff and instead stays back. “About 2 meters to the cliff edge semi-circle around you. Only behind you is safe.”

Tony jerks a nod and then asks, “Picnic. What kind of picnic did you bring?”

“Thermos of hot chocolate because Vision told me it would be cold. But mainly sandwiches and some fruit.” He swings the backpack to the ground and pulls out the blanket. Spreading it on the rough ground, he narrates, “I put a blanket down, just behind you if you want to sit down. It’s in a patch of sunlight.”

“Good, good.” Tony goes to his knees, feels for the blanket and then sits down on it. “Glad you talked me into the hoodie. It’s chilly up here.”

“Sure is. Don’t expect this for August.”

“Sometimes it gets cold in late Summer. Sometimes it doesn’t. Lots of times now, it doesn’t. It’s a shame with climate change and all,” Tony says as he folds up his cane. “Got that hot chocolate?”

“Sure do.” Steve leans over and opens the thermos, pours the steaming cocoa, and then reaches over for Tony’s hand. It’s callused and rough; it has so many stories. “Here you go.”

“Marshmallows?”

“Oh yeah.” He grabs the small bag he packed and opens it. “Lots or a little?”

“Lots. I have a terrible sweet tooth. It’s one of the reasons I hide blueberries around the lab. I try to curb it with good stuff.” He smiles at Steve and it spreads warmth through him – warmth he shouldn’t feel. He is – after all – just an employee.

“Here you go.” Steve dumps nearly the whole small bag sandwich bag into Tony’s mug. He saves a few for himself. He prepares his own hot chocolate and then settles down and stares out at the ocean. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes. It is.” Tony’s smile is far away as if he’s lost in some dream, lost in some faded memory of how the scenery looks. But then he surprises Steve. “The ocean – just listen to it – listen to how it hits the rocks and the sands below the cliff.”

Steve closes his eyes and keys into the sounds. The crash is easily discerned but the smaller waves, the trickle of water, the receding ebb of the ocean subtler, quieter. Beautiful. “Yeah. That’s.”

“Shush.” 

He mutes his words and drifts on the sounds, keeping his eyes closed so he can experience it like Tony. His hot chocolate forgotten, the food in his backpack fades as Steve listens. Over the ocean’s sounds he hears the twitter of birds and the rustle of leaves, the sway of the large pine trees, and the buzz and clatter of insects all around them. The Earth is alive not only in sight but in sound. He hones in on the breathing of the Earth, the life of it and it blossoms in his chest like a Christmas morning – so wonderous and surprising he nearly gasps in its brilliance. 

And then he hears it, above all else, the steady beat of Tony’s breathing besides him. Steve finds himself putting the mug down and reaching over, touching Tony’s empty hand, holding it in a loose grasp as if he might lead him, but not. Tony allows it, permits it and deep down Steve thrills at the contact. He swallows down the collapsing fear in his throat, the kind of terror that closes up his windpipe and neutralizes his ability to move forward with any request, any words.

“I’m sorry. I’ve done some stupid things over the last month and a half. I didn’t know better. I hope you understand I have good intentions.”

“You know what they say about good intentions, right?” Tony says but his words are light and soft like the breezes kissing the trees. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “I know, Steve. I’m sorry too. I overreacted the first day. I shouldn’t have. This is a big adjustment for me.”

“Do you think we’ll get the glasses fixed, the implant I mean?”

“Maybe, yes, probably? I don’t know. It’s complex and I only have a sample number of one, me, to work on. Plus-.” He stops. “Plus, the doctors are still worried about the possibility of stroke or seizures. I think I solved the stroke issue, but the seizure threat.” He raises a shoulder. “I just don’t know.”

“Have you spoke with Doctor Strange?”

“A little. I’m not ready to go that route,” Tony says. “Now hush so I can listen to the ocean and drink my hot chocolate which is excellent by the way. You’ll have to give the recipe to Jarvis.”

“Thanks. It was my mom’s.” Steve smiles and, instead of listening to the ocean, gazes at his clasped hand. He doesn’t want to let go, though he knows he should.

Tony interrupts his internal debate. He raises their linked hands. “You know, when this happened, I was bound and determined to show the world I was independent. That I wasn’t that poor Stark boy who lost his parents and his sight in one tragic accident. People tried to help, honestly wanted to help. But I fought it tooth and nail.”

“Did a little Helen Keller act?” Steve asks and then immediately regrets it. He hisses inwardly and chides himself.  
xxx  
“What do you mean?”

Steve cringes and tries to explain, “When Helen Keller was a little girl the Keller family brought Annie Sullivan to help her, teach her. But she was wild. She’d been blinded and lost her hearing due to illness. By the time she was 4 or so, she wasn’t behaved at all. She would run around the table and grab whatever was on anyone’s plate. Annie stopped all of that. She made the whole family leave the dining room and spent the next few hours stopping Helen and teaching her. Of course, it would take a while until they had the big break through with the water pump.”

“My, you know your stories about blind and deaf people.” Tony’s expression remains frozen, hard to read.

“Not really. My mom read it to me when I was sick. I was a very sick child.” Steve waits, bracing himself for Tony’s anger.

“Interesting. But I hope you don’t see me as some wild animal to be tamed.”

“More like a bucking bronco.” Steve squeezes his eyes close. He cannot believe he just said that out loud. What is wrong with him?

Tony laughs and releases Steve’s hand. “You just keep digging that hole, Steve.” His face turns red with his joy at his expense – which Steve knows he owes Tony.

“Sorry. I can’t figure out how to talk about it.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be the one thing we always talk about concerning me. How about we talk about something completely off topic.” Tony drinks the rest of his hot chocolate. “Give it a try.”

For a moment, Steve thinks Tony’s talking about the cocoa, but then he realizes he’s inviting him to steer clear of the minefield of Tony’s visual status and talk about something completely different. “What? Like what’s your favorite movie or video game?

“Well, yes but how about something a little less visually centric.” The amusement on Tony’s face is clearly evident.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Well, it’s fun when you squirm.”

“I’m not squirming.” He denies it, but the truth is as soon as Tony said it, Steve consciously becomes aware of his fidgeting. “God, you’re right about that too.”

Tony snickers. “Let me make this easier on you. Let’s start with music. That’s a good topic and it’s easy. I love all kinds of music. Before the accident, I liked it yeah, but I couldn’t stand some of it. Like opera. My mom loved opera and to this day I can remember wanting to drill my head open rather than go to an opera with her. But now, now I can understand it so much better. And it’s not because of what you think. It’s because in college I had this crazy ass organic chemistry teacher that would play opera during our tests.”

“Opera? Wasn’t that distracting?”

“Nope, he would use it as a tool to help us remember. During class he’d play snippets of his favorite pieces and then during the exams he would play the entire aria or whatever he’d picked during his lessons.” Tony smiles. “That man was brilliant. Eccentric as hell. Doctor Erantrue. From then on, I loved opera. Used it a lot during my college years.”

“Have to admit not much of a fan myself. My ears aren’t as sophisticated, though I do love old 40s music. My mom used to listen to it a lot because it reminded her of her mom. I guess it’s tradition in a way,” Steve says as he recalls his mom slowly dancing in the kitchen as she did the dishes. “She used to dance to it all the time. By herself. Dad died when I was barely a year old, but she would close her eyes and dance in the kitchen like Dad held her.”

“Did you ever dance with her?” Tony focuses all his attention on Steve.

“No. I have two left feet. Peggy, my fiancé, wanted to teach me before the wedding.” He stops and the loss hits him dead center in the chest. A fist hard and cold like steel grips him and his lungs constrict. He blinks a few times, trying to chase away the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he says, “Sorry.”

“She died during your deployment?”

“Yeah. She was part of the mission.” He presses his lips into a tight line. “It was a shitty mission and we shouldn’t have been on it. But duty called and we lost some good men and women. It was fucked up. Sorry, but that’s the only way to describe it.”

“Must have been terrible,” Tony says and his words gentle Steve’s throbbing nerves. “You can mourn, Steve.”

“She was a great woman, with a lot of potential. Way more than I had, that’s for sure.” Steve drops his gaze and picks at the grass blades. “She never taught me, you know. We never had enough time.”

Silence falls over them and Steve’s sure he’s ruined the whole picnic again, when Tony says, “How about I teach you now?”

Scoffing, Steve says, “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Tony starts to his feet.

“Well, for one thing there’s no music.” Steve doesn’t move but Tony extends his hand.

“Sure, there is. Listen to the waves.” Tony giggles. “I can see you doubt me. Come on. Get up and dance.”

Sighing, Steve rises to his feet and takes Tony’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind getting your feet stepped on.”

“I hope you’ll make sure I don’t dance us off the cliff,” Tony says as he places Steve’s one hand around his waist and the other in his hand. “You need to learn how to lead.”

“I thought I was already doing that,” Steve murmurs.

“Hush now, listen to the ocean. We’re going to sway to it.” Tony brings them together and moves his hips side to side. “Loosen up. Listen to the crest and the fall of the ocean. Let your body feel the rhythm of it.”

“Maybe I’m just totally tone deaf.” His whole body stiffens.

Tony glides his hand down Steve’s shoulder. “I let you guide me all day. Now you let me do the same. Switch it up.” Steve’s confused but he gets it in a bit, with Tony taking the lead. 

With gentle pressure against his side, Tony gets Steve to sway. It’s only a tiny movement. He listens to the ocean and Tony’s speaking to him, right in his ear. “Just let the ebb and flow take your body, float on the sounds of the waves.”

The words mesmerize and Steve closes his eyes as the ocean sounds encompass him. After a pause, Tony says, “There you go. Just let your hips do the work. Now you lead me.”

When they change again, Steve’s nervous – his heart racking him in his chest. Tony eases against him and Steve lets the music of the sea overtake him again. It isn’t about the music, the ocean, or the waves. It’s this simple thing, this intimacy, this body pressed against his, these hands clasped in his, this shared moment. Over the smell of sea salt, Tony fragrance lingers in the air and Steve finds himself lulled by it. He bows his head and breathes in. The curls of Tony’s hair, the crown of his head only centimeters away from Steve’s lips. Tony seems comfortable in Steve’s embrace, their bodies fitting together. 

“There you go. Now you got it,” Tony says, and his voice sounds a little drunk and sweet. 

“Just swaying,” Steve mutters.

“That’s all dancing has to be sometimes.” Tony must suddenly come to himself, because he drops Steve’s hands and steps away. “Hopefully, we’re not going to dance off the cliff.”

“No, we’re good,” Steve says, and he can’t keep the disappointed tone out of his voice.

“Sorry about that.”

Steve has no idea what Tony’s apology is for, but he takes it in stride. “Do you want lunch now?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Tony says and claps his hands. “I’m starved.” 

Steve guides Tony down to the blanket and then kneels on the edge as he retrieves the sandwiches. “Hope you don’t mind sandwiches.”

“Sounds great.” Tony has his sunglasses off and his face lifted to the sun. “Tell me is the sky blue, is it a cloudless day?”

“It’s blue. There are some clouds. The big puffy ones. The chill off the sea feels right for the sky. The green of the cliff – I don’t know – warms it all in a way.” He touches the back of Tony’s hand and then places the sandwich in his cupped hand. “The sea looks darker than I thought it would, but the sky is a deep blue today.”

Tony bites the sandwich roll, chews, and then says, “It’s a beautiful day. Thank you, Steve, for making me see that.”

Steve smiles. “You’re welcome.” 

Later that day, they’re working in the lab on the ground level of the house. Instead of going line by line through the code, Tony has him fabricating a 3D new model of his smart streets platform. It’s not the real thing but Tony wants to be able to feel it and get a good sense of how each ‘brick’ will interlock with its cousin. Steve works at the computer terminal, checking the 3D printing processes over again as he gears up for the final segments to be manufactured. After the 3D printer finishes, Steve needs to intercalate the pieces and then fuse them with the computer processor pieces. It’s delicate work that Tony told him really needs to be done in a clean room, but since they don’t have that, Steve is going to wear a biocontamination suit with gloves and a helmet.

“I can’t believe you have one of these just laying around here,” Steve says as he checks the final print.

“Not really just laying around. I’ve been working on a new proto-type to make the tactile function feel more like real touch, as if you don’t have the gloves on at all. So I have the suit to help me figure out what’s needed and what I can dump,” Tony says and finds the helmet on the lab bench. “Let’s finish suiting you up.”

“In a minute, I have to just finish up this little piece.” He keys in the last of the designer code that Tony dictated to him. “There. Done.”

“Great. Put on the helmet.” Tony picks it up.

Steve takes it. “You are like a dog with a bone.” He accepts the helmet and then snaps it on. It smells weird. “What’s that smell?”

“Well, I might have puked a little last time I wore the biohazard suit. But I cleaned it up, or Vision did. He used bleach and something, I don’t know,” Tony says and taps over to help Steve latch the helmet to the suit.

“It isn’t pleasant.” There’s no vomit smell in the helmet – but the bleach stench overpowers everything. It stings his eyes. “How long ago did he wash this thing out?”

“I asked him to clean it again this morning, just in case.” He finishes locking the final fastener.

Steve blinks a few times and then inhales. That’s a mistake. The smell of bleach burns his nostrils and his bronchi constrict. He tries to exhale but his throat locks up, spasming. Immediately, he recognizes the claws ripping at his bronchi and lungs as chemical induced asthma attack. His gloved fingers come up to the helmet and fumble with the latches. He wheezes.

“What? No, Steve, you have to keep the helmet on. I can hear you through the little microphone I installed.” Tony yanks at Steve’s hands to keep him from the latches.

“No-.” He wheezes again. He needs his inhaler. Damn, what was he thinking? He can’t do this; he needs access to his inhaler. Breathing tightens his chest even further, every time he tries it cycles back to strengthen the grip on his bronchi. “No-. To-.” He can’t keep his legs under him, and he tumbles down to his knees, grasping at Tony with his gloved hand. 

“What? Steve, what are you doing?” Tony asks and jerks his hand away from him. “Stop messing around.”

Steve manages a tortured breath and says, “In-inhale-inhaler.”

“What? What the hell?” Tony stops dead in front of Steve. His sightless eyes close and he cocks his ear to listen. 

No words – Steve can no longer speak. His breathing takes precedence and only high pitched whistle sounds. 

“Jesus!” Tony says and scrambles for the latches. His talented hands find each one, unlocking them. He yanks at the helmet and throws it to the side. His hands are on Steve’s face. “Are you having an asthma attack? Nod if you are.”

Tears stream down his face as Steve nods. Tony keeps his head about him and holds Steve’s face in his hands. 

“I need to know where your inhaler is. Is it in your backpack?” Steve nods again. Black dots appear before his eyes and he struggles to breathe. Tony frowns. “I’m going to run down a list of where the backpack could be. You need to nod when I get to it. In the lab?” A nod. “Thank God. Okay, now by the door?” A shake. “Okay on the bench by the door?” Another shake. “Fuck. Okay. Did you fucking put it on the lab bench like I told you not to?” A nod. “Thank God. It’s close.” 

Steve teeters to the side. His ribs hurt; his lungs burn. He needs air. 

“Front pocket?” A nod. Tony releases him and Steve falls forward on this hands and knees. It’s the worse position for him to be in but he can’t move, he doesn’t have the strength to pick himself up. He hears Tony unzip the backpack, but he doesn’t look up. His vision blurs with tears and his mouth opens gulping for air and then Tony’s hands are on him, pushing him back to sit down. 

He shakes the inhaler and says, “Two puffs. Let’s do the first one.”

It scorches the back of Steve’s throat and he’s barely able to intake any breath at all. After a few seconds, Tony forces the inhaler in between his teeth again and a second puff. The world starts to sizzle away, black mixing with gray and then suddenly the clamp around his rib cage subsides. He gasps for breath and another but Tony cradles him, telling him to follow his breathing.

“Slow and easy. Shh. Just breathe, okay. Here you go. Just breathe.” Somehow Tony gets the top of the suit unzipped and strokes Steve’s back. “There you go. Just easy. Do you have a daily inhaler?”

Steve shakes his head, still not trusting the air and his voice. His throat stings. 

“Okay. We’re going to the doctor when we get back to the mainland and get you one.” 

He wants to protest but the energy just isn’t in him. All this time he only filled the script on the rescue inhaler because he couldn’t afford the monthly cost for his daily one. It never occurred to him that he could finally purchase his medicine with his new salary. His voice is rough when he speaks, “’m okay now.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Sir, you called?” Vision appears at the laboratory door. 

“Yes, Vision.” Tony gestures to the tall man. “Come and help me get him up and to bed.”

“Do-don’t have to,” Steve says, and he’s surprised at how winded he is. “Bed.”

“Yes, you do.” 

Vision joins Tony and they get Steve to his feet. He’s unsteady and grips the side of the lab bench as they remove the biohazard suit. It takes some time and his body aches as the fatigue comes over him. He’s not used to asthma attacks, not anymore. The chemical induced ones that he gets since the mission that went to hell haven’t happened as often. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t get the daily inhaler. He figured he doesn’t need it.

Tony grips his hand as Vision leads them. “Come on. To bed.”

It takes some maneuvering to get to his room. Two flights of stairs winds Steve. By the time he drops down onto his California king bed with its overabundance of pillows, Steve’s eyes are drooping and his chest aches. He hears Tony talking to Vision.

“I’m going to let him rest for a while. I’ll call for tea and soup in a bit.”

“I’ll have Wanda make her chicken noodle soup. She’s already prepping dough for fresh bread.” Vision leaves them.

Somehow Tony finagles the duvet over Steve and lies down next to him. “I’m right here. Just sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Protests die on his lips as he falls deeply to sleep. When he wakes, Steve’s surprised that he even slept at all. When he was first injured, his asthma attacks ended with him in the hospital, but lately they have been far apart and few. He glances around the room and sees that the light is different – he must have slept for hours. Tony’s sitting next to him with a book in his lap and his hands on the book. Steve shifts and sits up. 

“You’re awake,” Tony says and reaches to touch Steve’s face. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” Steve assesses his condition. His voice is hoarse. “Surprised it took me so hard. I haven’t had an attack in months.”

“Probably haven’t inhaled a lung full of bleach either,” Tony says and his hand cups Steve’s jaw. “But you’re okay?”

“Hmm,” Steve says with a nod. “Yeah, I am. Just hungry.” He furrows his brows as he notices the book Tony has in his lap. “Braille? You know braille?”

“Of course, I know braille. I ended up getting my degrees when I was still effectively blind with no implant. While the profs did what they could to teach at a distance, I had to do a lot of my studying on my own. Jarvis actually arranged to have lots of books translated for me.” Tony lifts the book. “Haven’t touched some of these in years. Just lucky I had a few laying around here.”

“You read French?” Steve looks at the book’s title. It’s the Little Prince in the original French.

“Among other languages, but strangely I read it better in Braille.” He laughs. “Anyhow.” He places the book on the side table. “Do you want to get some tea? Maybe some soup?”

“You don’t have to baby me, Tony. I’m feeling better already.”

“According to Vision, your lips were blue. You nearly died.” 

Steve touches Tony’s hand on his face. “And you saved me.”

“So, let me take care of you a little longer. Tea and soup?” Tony asks. With a nod, Steve agrees. He could eat. In fact, soup doesn’t sound like quite enough, but it’s a start. Tony says, “I can have Vision bring it up. Wanda made fresh bread.”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. Is there a problem? Are you embarrassed?” Tony takes his hand away and shifts as if to get out of the bed.

“No! No. I just thought you might,” Steve stops. He’s not certain what he thought. “It’s been a weird day.” From hiking, to dancing, to hanging out in bed with his boss, his brain just might explode. 

“Well, let me get Vision to bring up the food.” Tony leans over to the side table and picks up his phone. It is voice activated and Vision responds with the food in only minutes. Both he and Pietro enter the room with two large trays of food. 

“I went ahead and added a plate of your favorite pasta, boss,” Vision says. “Well, Wanda did. She didn’t think a bowl of soup would be enough for Captain Rogers.”

The soup is delicious and filling with the fresh bread. Steve devours it much to Tony amusement. How he knows, Steve’s not sure but he adds a slice of his own bread to Steve’s tray. He gobbles it up before he even thinks to thank him for it. “Oh yeah,” he’s chewing as he says it. “Thanks for the bread. For everything I mean. I’m starved.”

“I can tell. You haven’t stopped eating in the last fifteen minutes. I’m thinking I might need to protect my arms or something,” Tony says with a little laugh at the end. 

“Probably the steroid or something,” Steve says and finishes the bread. He only eats some of the pasta before it’s too much, too fast. “Oh, that’s enough.” He sips the tea instead. He looks at Tony’s tray – he’s barely eaten anything. “Oh shit, I forgot to tell you where everything is.”

Tony chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I can find stuff on my own, you know. It’s just a little messier sometimes.” He touches the tray. “But could you move it away. Maybe onto the side table or something?”

“Sure. Just let me get mine settled over here.” Steve lifts his tray and places it on the table over near the windows and picks up Tony’s to place it on the same table. He brings both cups of tea back. “I brought you the tea.” He places his own on the nightstand and then cups Tony’s hand around the mug before he shifts the handle to him. He gets back onto the bed. “I should thank you again.”

“Do me a favor?” Tony says. 

“Anything?”

“Hmm that’s not a ringing endorsement of my as of yet unspoken proposal, but I will proceed.” Tony beams at him. “This upcoming event that Pepper’s planned at the Maria Stark Foundation. She’s convinced it has to be more than a gala. If it’s a gala it’s only a few hours long and my nemesis the reporter-.”

“Everhart.”

“Yes, her. She’ll still be lurking around because I will appear and then disappear during the event. So, Pepper’s planned it out that there will be a plenary about the Foundation’s work before the gala. She wants me to be there, Chair it.”

“If you’re asking me to assist you- I mean I expected as much,” Steve replies. 

“Well, no. Usually I take a date to the Foundation’s Galas. So, I need one.” Tony waits. His expression placid as if he just asked Steve to tie his shoes.

“Hmm, do you want me to get you a date?” Steve hesitates. “I mean I’m not even good getting myself a date.”

“Shit, no! I want to take you. It’s already all over the media that we’re dating. Or they suspect you’re my newest beau. Plus, it gives a good reason for you to be at my elbow all the time.” Tony grins and all Steve can think about the cat that ate the canary. “Come on. Fake date me.”

“You want to fake date me?” It sounds like a weird gay romance novel. “Fake date. I don’t know.”

“It’s the best excuse for you to be there-.” Tony grabs at his hands, holding them. “Come on, I just did save your life.”

“I thought having a Personal Assistant meant that you got to take the Personal Assistant wherever you wanted,” Steve says. He does not want to fake date Tony. It’s a recipe for disaster. Natasha – who doesn’t even really know Steve – even said he is a terrible liar. It isn’t even that he can’t pull off pretending to date Tony for a night, but the idea of keeping his feelings tucked away – that’s the problem. He sighs. This is even the first time he’s even admitted that his subconscious thoughts are invading his conscious feelings.

“Well, yes I can. But it would be better if I made this a more personal affair. I need a date Steve and you’re it. Can you do this for me?” Tony asks. 

God, he’s sitting in bed with Tony. His hands are held in Tony’s clasp. “Hmm yeah. Sure. I can do it.”

“Don’t worry. It will be worth it.” Tony snickers and then feels for his cane. “I have to call Pepper now. Why don’t you rest? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve flinches and nods, then for Tony’s benefit adds, “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.” 

Tony taps his way out of the suite of rooms. Steve waits a good five minutes to ensure that Tony doesn’t back track for anything. He jumps up and finds his phone in the backpack that someone must have dropped in the corner of the bedroom. He presses the icon for Sam.

“Hey! Steve! I thought you were out of the country.”

Steve presses fingers into his eyes until he sees stars. “I am. In Canada on an island off the coast of Newfoundland.”

“Wow, is it cold? Why is your voice all rough?” Sam stops and muffles the phone as he speaks. “Did you have an asthma attack?”

“Yes, but everything’s fine. I have my rescue inhaler and that’s not why I’m calling you,” Steve says and drops back onto the bed. 

“I have a feeling it’s his love life.” That’s Bucky, always straight to the point.

“Tony wants me to fake date him,” Steve says. “And he wants to make it worth my time.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“Are you a high-priced prostitute, Stevie? Because we didn’t raise you that way,” Bucky says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “For Pete’s sake, Bucky, can you be serious? This is a problem and I need help.”

“Okay, then why does he need a fake date? Can’t he get someone on his own?” Sam interjects. 

The non-disclosure agreement ties Steve’s ability to explain the situation into knots. Fumbling over an explanation, Steve just says, “It’s complicated. He wants me to fake date him. Isn’t that enough information for now. I don’t want to do it.”

“Good. Makes you feel cheap,” Bucky comments.

“No,” Steve hisses. “Bucky, you are a pain in the ass. It’s not like that. It’s -.”

“He has feelings for the guy,” Sam says. “Steve, you are hopeless.”

“Yeah. That’s it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. The idea of fake dating Tony even for one night raises – not only all kinds of ethical issues in his current position – but an emotional tsunami of feelings. He’s been carrying this loaded attachment, of developing feelings for Tony, for the last few weeks. Most of the time, Steve has successfully ignored it and outright pretended it just wasn’t there. He’s focused solely on the work. Now, it’s at the forefront and he doesn’t know if he can handle the idea of just fake dating Tony. Not to mention the guilt he feels for leaving Peggy’s memory behind.

“Wanting to move on is not a sin, Steve,” Sam says. He’s zeroed in on the one thing that’s obvious. “Plus you like him. It’s okay to like him.”

“How am I going to fake date him when-.” The words stick in his throat. He grumbles.

“When you really want to date him. Well, you’re a terrible liar, so you’re going to have to get over it and deal. Or confess to him that to you it’s a real date,” Sam says. 

“That will just get him fired from the first job he’s had since the Army where he can feed his voracious appetite.” 

“Ten dollar word there, Buck.”

“Shut up, you jerk.”

“What do I do?” Steve sighs. His bones feel like jelly; his muscles like noodles. He’s never going to have the strength to get up again, to walk again, not with this weight wrapped around him.

“When’s this fake date?”

“Labor Day weekend,” Steve answers.

Bucky whistles. “You gotta a lot of time to figure this out. Weeks.”

“Two.”

“Yep, and you’re going to find out if he likes you or not.” Bucky has that conspiratorial tone that always ended up with them in detention when they were kids. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll figure things out for myself,” Steve says as he sits up. Two weeks. He can do this, find out whether or not there’s anything that Tony might be hiding. After all, they danced today. Maybe not a real dance, but it felt that way to Steve. Holding Tony by the cliff’s edge, listening to the ocean, and swaying to the rhythm of the waves sent shock waves to his subconscious longing. Those moments woke him up, threw back the covers and revealed his own dreams. “I gotta go. You two doing good?”

“As always, you creep,” Bucky laughs. “Come visit us soon. Okay?”

“I will. I plan to.”

“Make it a priority,” Sam directs, and Steve only smiles. Sam always had the makings of a fine Captain in the Army. They say their farewells and then Steve mulls over the events of the day. But what he really can’t stop thinking about is Tony, cradling him, taking care of him when he had the asthma attack. 

It’s been a long time since someone held him. They danced and Tony held him. It’s been a long, long time since he wanted to sink into someone’s arms. This fake date – perhaps it’s an opportunity for something more. Something special. Something real.


	9. Chapter 9

_NEW YORK TIMES: The big event of the season is coming up in New York City, the Maria Stark Foundation Gala. The gala will include a list of who’s who of billionaires and tycoons all vying for a place at the table to see the most updated advancements from Stark Industries. Tony Stark himself will be there to lead a plenary session on his company’s newest products which will lead into the fundraiser gala. All eyes will be on Tony Stark who hasn’t been seen in public for over a month…_

“Fuck, Pepper, I did what I had to do,” Tony says into the receiver. Two days after Tony asked Steve to be his date for the Maria Stark Foundation Gala, he finally fessed up to asking Steve to attend as his plus one and not his Personal Assistant. It’s not the end of the world. After all, Pepper used to be his Personal Assistant and stood in many times as his date for equally painful events. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Steve is not me. This is inappropriate Tony. You shouldn’t ask your employee out on a date.” Pepper huffs loudly into the phone as if he doesn’t already know she’s exasperated with him. 

“Don’t worry. He knows it’s a fake date,” Tony says. While Steve didn’t seem eager to play the part of his date at first, he conceded to it. Over the last few days, Tony hadn’t noticed any big changes in Steve, a few more questions about Tony’s general interests and his life. While they were working on the upgrade codes late into the night, Steve struck a line of questioning that struck Tony as both insightful and earnest in his interest.

He’d just finished reciting the lines of code to Tony when he asked, “Jarvis is someone you deeply respect. He’s very protective of you.”

Tony had his braille keyboard out and stopped his work. “Yes. I think I told you early on that he stepped in and acted as a surrogate father.”

“But I think he probably did that before your accident,” Steve said. He leaned over Tony’s shoulder. “You have this bit of code backwards. I can transfer it to you.”

“Okay, do that.” Tony waited as Steve sent him the data. The computer then read out the code. Tony listened and smiled. “You’re getting better at this.”

“I’m going cross eyed doing this.”

Tony finished up his work and then turned to Steve. “Jarvis and Ana stepped in when my parents didn’t seem interested. Don’t fault my mom. Dad always had her on a string, trying to get her to do what he wanted. She would ask if we could have Christmas together, he would promise and then boom, something at work pulled him away. Eventually, she couldn’t overcome the depression and loneliness. Ana took care of my mom as much as she took care of me. They were great friends.”

“It’s good your mom had someone,” Steve had replied. 

“But you’re right. I was lucky to have them. I still am lucky.” Tony tilted his head and wished for all the world he could see Steve at that moment. He wanted to know his body language, wanted to feel the intensity of his gaze. “But why do you ask?”

Tony heard Steve’s shrug in his hoodie. “Well, Jarvis didn’t like me very much when I started. He always gave me the stare of death.”

“Stare of death.”

“He would glare at me like a dad when some teenaged boy came by to pick up his daughter for the prom. I got like at least 30 pounds on him and he scared me.” Steve scoffed at his own foolishness. “I think he likes me now.”

“Probably. You passed the tests. He likes how you treat me. I like how you treat me.” Tony hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud and Steve, thankfully, had only paused for a second before he carried on with the more mundane part of their work. He never mentioned Tony’s slip up. 

Tony has to admit that he does like how Steve treats him. Steve’s curious and intuitive. He asks questions and tries not to insult Tony when inquiring about how to do something for someone who’s blind. He’s actually spent hours studying for the position and Tony’s caught him watching YouTube videos on how to interact and assist the visually impaired. He’s dedicated and loyal. But that just makes him sound like Tony’s seeing eye dog, and he’s so much more than that to Tony. 

“You can’t ask someone to fake date you, Tony,” Pepper is saying. “He could report you for sexual harassment.”

“I fake dated you then real dated you. I don’t see the problem.” 

She could go for the cheap shot, but Pepper never stoops so low. “Well, I think you should reconsider asking him to do this. He’s not your toy to play with. He’s an employee.”

“He’s also a friend,” Tony says. Admitting a truth must be progress. “He’s been by my side for over a month Pepper. Every day. Right now, he’s not even really getting his every 7th day off. Sure, he takes it, but he’s still here stuck on this island with me.”

“Out of curiosity what does he do on his off days?” 

“Mainly art. He’s working on a comic book,” Tony says. “I think he’s good. When I was still using the glasses, I peeked at his sketches. Very good. The story isn’t half bad either.” Tony shrugs. “Once in a while he goes on hikes or takes the boat out. Most of the time, he’ll ask me to come along with him.”

“Do you go?”

“Sometimes. Later today, we’re taking the boat out just to tool around. It’s his day off, and I think he’s getting a little cabin fever. You can take the boy out of New York City, but you can’t take the New York City out of the boy.” While boating isn’t his favorite thing to do since he went blind, he’s willing to give it a try. He’ll take his motion sickness meds just in case. Having no frame of visual reference makes boating especially hard for him. 

“How is it going though, generally. Not wearing the glasses?” He picks up on the mother hen tone of her voice. 

“Okay. I can’t say I love it. Having Steve here really helps. He can paint what things look like with his words. You can tell he’s an artist,” Tony says. 

“It sounds like you admire him,” Pepper says, and her voice is kind and quiet.

It hits him like a surprise. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Well, then be careful, okay? He seems like he’s good for you, Tony. Don’t push him away. You need more friends, more people who care.”

He wants to assure her that he’s not about to screw this up, but the truth is Tony has as talent for breaking things, especially friendships. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in about ten days. You’re coming home a little early right?” She all back to business now.

“Yeah, by a few days. I want to upload the latest upgrade and then test out the glasses. Might take a few days to verify everything’s in working order.” He misses using his virtual reality glasses and gloves. He misses being able to see, to check out how Steve’s reacting, what his smile looks like. It had only been a month when Tony had to give up his sight for this stupid Gala event. If that idiot reporter would just stop being such a pain in his butt all the time. “So yeah see you very soon.”

“I look forward to it. And Tony?” Pepper adds. “Please get some rest. It’s going to be a stressful few days.”

“Love you, Pepper.”

“You too, Tony.”

_He’s good for you._

Pepper had said that Steve was good for him, is good for him. Tony respects Pepper’s opinion. Over the years she’s been on the side of right more often than not. She knows him better than nearly everyone, but probably Rhodey. But then again, he doesn’t interact with Rhodey as often these days as he does with Pepper. 

_He’s good for you._

It warms him just to think about the idea of Steve. Being cooped up on the island, a cold one at that, Steve never complained. He worked with Tony. He offered different activities as entertainment. They’d roasted marshmallows and made smores. Steve found audio books online and they closed many evenings listening to books from non-fiction biographies to space fantasies that Steve seemed to favor. Even on his day off he would wander down to talk to Tony at lunch or even dinner. Tony put it down to the lack of company in general, but then he heard from Wanda that Steve and Pietro often went running in the early dawn hours. So maybe, just maybe, Steve chose to be with Tony, wanted his company.

That is something new. The idea of it. 

The next day, Tony and Steve are scheduled to work on the codes again and test the upgrades. Yet, Tony hates the idea of being hidden away in the ground floor of the house for another long irritating day. When Steve meets him for breakfast, Tony smiles and says, “Do you want to play hooky today?”

“I think I did a little of that yesterday, but what do you have in mind?” Steve settles at his place at the table. He thanks Wanda as she serves him breakfast. 

“Biking.” Tony smiles like the Cheshire cat.

“Hmm. I’m not sure that would be advisable for you,” Steve says. 

Tony forks the strawberry in his fruit bowl. He keeps a finger of his other hand over the lip of the bowl to find the fruit. He can tell what the fruit is by the size and the texture as he stabs it. “How about a motorcycle and you drive.”

“You have a bike here?” The excitement exuding from Steve makes the whole proposition worth it. 

“Yeah. In the garage. It’s an oldie of a goodie. Classic. 1942 Harley-Davidson WLA. Got some nice additions I designed myself.” He’s enjoying the reveal himself.

“A ’42 Harley? You have got to be kidding me! I’ve always wanted an old Harley. Where the hell did you get it?” Steve says and he sounds like a kid at Christmas. 

Tony shrugs. “I went through a phase right after my parents died where I bought all kinds of stuff that I didn’t need. I bought the Harley and repaired her. She was ready for the scrap pile.”

“You repaired her yourself. Wait! After the accident?” Steve gulps and then the distinct sound of his glass hitting the table reverberates. “Sorry. But really?”

“Yep. And I promise you won’t die. It was one of my first tests to see if I could live like this. If I could still engineer and fix things. Took me years to finish, but I did it and it proved a lot to me.”

In a reverenced awe, Steve says, “I bet it did. Wow. I’m impressed.”

Tony puts up his hand. “Don’t be impressed until you see it.” He opens his hand, seeking. “Are you game?”

Steve accepts his hand and instead of curling it around his bicep instead he notches it at his elbow and escorts Tony to the garage on the ground floor. “I figure we might as well get used to walking around like this if we’re going to be fake boyfriends.”

In an instant the racing of Tony’s heart slows and sinks. He listened too deeply to what Pepper said. Steve chatters on as they go to the garage, talking about how his father had a bike, one he never saw. “They say my mom and dad were very free back in the day. Until I came along.”

“My mom was kind of an artistic type,” Tony says. “Hence the Maria Stark Foundation. She had a degree in Art History, lived in Paris until my dad stole her away from all of that.” 

Steve grasps Tony’s hand. “You never told me your mother was in the fine arts. What was her specialty?”

It embarrasses Tony to admit that he never took much of an interest in his mother’s artistic past. “There’s a bunch of her stuff still at the Tower. When we get back, you’re welcome to go through it.”

“Thanks! That would be great.” He stops their progress. From the echo of the wow Steve utters, Tony surmises they’ve arrived at the garage. 

“What do you think?” 

“She’s beautiful- the bike- Tony. How? When did you bring her here?” Steve asks. He releases his hold of Tony. 

“You like her?” Tony smiles and wishes so damned hard he could see Steve’s expression. 

“Yeah! Yeah! She’s fabulous. Her lines, the 40s motif. The detailing. Wow!” He’s skipping around the bike, skittering with his booted feet.

“Do you think,” Tony starts and then stops. “No. Nevermind.”

Steve halts his admiration of the bike. “What? Tony, what?”

“Do you think I could -.” He inhales and then exhales – speaking quickly before he losing his nerve. “Do you think I could touch your face? I want to know-.”

“Yes!” Steve steps right up to him and lifts his hands. “Go right ahead!”

Tentatively, Tony places his fingers on Steve’s face. He closes one hand to let the heat radiating off Steve’s cheek warm him. The height of his cheek muscles, the crinkle of his eyes, he gently explores – Steve’s beaming, happy. Tony did that. Tony. He smiles back.

“You’re happy,” Tony whispers.

“Yeah. I am.” Steve says and lays his hands over Tony’s. “Let’s ride, Tony.”

“Yeah,” he says, finding himself breathless. He drops his hands away; his fingertips tingle with memory. “The helmets should be on the wall.”

“I see them. Just a sec.” Steve leaves his side. Tony follows his footsteps.

“Mine’s the red and gold one,” Tony says.

“It has a full face mask. Don’t you want to feel the wind on your face?” Steve gives the helmet to Tony.

“Don’t like bugs in my teeth. So, no.” Tony slips on the helmet with the full mask. He reaches in with his index finger and switches on the microphone. “You should have a mic in yours so we can talk.”

“Yeah. Okay. It’s on. We really should wear leather so if we get in an accident, we don’t get road rash,” Steve says. Tony hears him hop on the bike. 

“Well, hopefully, you’re a better driver than that. There’s no traffic. We’ll be taking the access road for deliveries to the island.” Surreptitiously, Tony presses the switch hidden near the ear of his helmet. It clicks twice and then he hears a slight buzz before a harsh bolt of pain spears through his head before it calms to an annoying sting. The implant comes alive and Tony sees Steve on the bike smiling at him from the seat. The mask serves as surrogate glasses.

“Walk about three steps directly in front of you and I can get you seated on the bike,” Steve says. 

Tony’s faked being sighted, but not blind. He reaches out and lets Steve grasp his hand to lead him to the bike. He knows he shouldn’t be cheating, especially since the implant upgrade isn’t finished, nor has it been properly tested. He won’t deny himself this small treat. Going driving with Steve at the helm, seeing the island one last time, Tony going to do this if it’s the last thing he ever does as a sighted person. 

Steve helps him get on the bike. “You’ll need to hold on.”

“Keys are in the ignition,” Tony says and slides his arms around Steve. “Garage door is automatic. Just hit the fob button.”

Steve giggles and the sound tickles his ears through the speaker. “This is so great.”

“I am assuming you’ve ridden before?” Tony hadn’t thought about whether Steve knows how to drive a motorcycle.

“Sure do,” Steve says and guns the engine. “This is going to be wild. Ready?”

“Yeah. I am.” The garage door opens and the bright light of day streams in. Tony smiles at the sight. The visual sensors on the helmet aren’t as advanced as his glasses, but he’s missed seeing the sun, seeing the green of the trees. He’s missed the blue of the sky.

“Beautiful day out,” Steve says. “Clear sky, warm for here. Very nice.”

“Great, let’s go. The access road goes right down to the service docks on the other side of the island.” 

Steve hits the kick stand and balances the bike as he presses it into drive. Inertia almost whips Tony off the bike as they lurch forward and speed out of the garage. He grabs onto Steve and leans into him. 

“You okay back there?” Steve asks.

“Doing good. Kick it into high gear.” Tony wants to feel the speed, see the blur of the landscape as the colors bleed together. “Just remember there’s not a lot of paved road here.”

“And you’re going to let that stop us?” Steve whoops into the microphone and then the motorcycle charges down the road. 

The sheer speed shoots through Tony like a javelin. He gasps at the thrill of Steve’s handling of the bike. Steve is made to ride a bike; it’s clear to Tony as he takes the curves with a precarious slant, but Tony never feels vulnerable. Every weave and turn Steve’s body flows with it like liquid in a closed tube. There’s no second guessing, there’s no question. Steve communes with the bike. Tony follows his lead, letting his body ease against Steve, letting his body move with Steve and the bike. The rhythm of riding, the power of it throbs a beat of exhilaration and freedom Tony’s never experienced. It’s new; it’s brilliant. He sings out in laughter with pure joy as Steve navigates the road without fear. 

After a first round on the road to the docks and then back to the house, Steve heads the bike toward rougher terrain. He hits the meadows and it’s rocky and bumpy, but he controls the handlebars and wheels as if he’s part of the bike. It isn’t like dirt bike riding because those bikes are made for off road. This is raw and coarse, yet Tony finds a certain freedom even in it. Eventually, Steve turns back to the road and brings them down to the dock again. Tony’s limbs shake as he gets off the bike once Steve parks. His whole body’s on fire. His nerves scream at him and his muscles ache with adrenaline. 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” Tony yells as he watches Steve dismount the bike. He reminds Tony of those old westerns his dad used to watch. He’s a cowboy getting off his horse. He’s all legs and wide shoulders and Tony licks his lips. He’s happy the mask of his helmet conceals his hungry expression. 

“Tell me you didn’t have fun?” Steve laughs as he tugs off his helmet. His hair is in disarray and there’s sweat along his brow. He yanks off his jacket, and Tony sees the sweat running down his back as he places it on the bike’s seat. 

“You’re a maniac. That’s not a dirt bike, you know,” Tony says but he can’t keep up the pretense and he claps his hands and bends over laughing. “Shit. I could have fucking died. But fuck, that was crazy ass fun.”

Steve wipes a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It was great. I haven’t ridden like that in years.” He looks out to the pier; it’s empty of any boats. Just a long dock stretching out into the ice blue sea. He breathes out and sighs. “Oh, I need a drink. Too bad we didn’t bring some water.”

“Yeah,” Tony says and stares out at the water and the dock. “Boats not due for another day or so.”

“Aren’t you hot in the helmet?” Steve asks. “I can help you get it off.”

Tony steps backward, away from him. “Nope. It’s like 50 degrees. It’s not that hot out.”

“Tony,” Steve says and puts his hands on his hips. “You have glasses in there, don’t you?”

“Nope, no glasses.” Tony shakes his head.

“You looked out to the docks. You just stepped away from me.” Steve raises his eyebrow at Tony. “You’re not supposed to be accessing the implant right now. The upgrade hasn’t even been tested. It could fry your brain.”

“No glasses.” 

Steve reaches out and lifts the helmet. “Then you won’t mind me taking this off of you.” 

“Shit! No!” Tony says but before he can do anything, Steve lifts the helmet clear and his world goes to fuzzy gray shadows. “Why? Why can’t I have it?” He gropes for the helmet.

“You know exactly why.” Steve has no sympathy for him. “Now, take my hand and we’ll walk down the pier. You can feel the wind on your face. Listen to the gulls.”

“I don’t need to feel the wind on my face,” Tony mutters, but Steve takes his hand and heads toward the pier. He narrates the entire walk until they get to the dock.

“It’s beautiful here,” Steve says.

“I wouldn’t know,” Tony grumbles but he still holds onto Steve’s hand as they walk out along the pier. It’s a floating dock so he has to keep his hand in Steve’s.

“Listen to the sea,” Steve says. “The lap of the waves against the dock.” 

“Yes, thrilling. It’s stirring my soul to poetic heights.”

Steve stops. Tony imagines he must be exasperated. Instead, Steve’s voice is soft and kind. “I can’t come to understand how you feel about this, Tony. Like you said earlier when I first came to work for you, me trying is just ableist talk.” He squeezes Tony’s hand. “But the truth is, I worry about you. The pain the implant causes. I don’t want to lose that brain of yours. Maybe you don’t get it, but you’re brilliant. Beyond the norm of brilliance. Just the idea of an implant to help you see is far beyond what anyone else has imagined or even invented.”

“Like you said it sucks,” Tony says and wants to wrap his arms around his chest. He can’t. He’s beholden to Steve for his safety.

“No. It’s a work in progress. Everything you’re doing is awe inspiring. The world shouldn’t lose that.” Steve’s tone is earnest and pleading. The gulls are cawing, crying out, in the background, giving credence to his speech.

“The world can suck my dick, Steve. I just want to-.”

Steve interrupts him. “I don’t believe you for a minute. Not for a second. You care. Otherwise smart streets and clean energy wouldn’t be top on your list of projects. You care. I know you do. The world can’t lose you and, truthfully, I don’t want to lose you. Not you.” He drops off to silence. 

The world around them fills the space. The gulls, the sea, the breeze sing together. The winds hit him and it’s chilled. Tony smells the saltwater and thinks maybe in the distance some seals might be around, he can smell their fishy hides. “You’re not going to lose me, Steve. No one is.”

“I hope not,” Steve says, and he must be turned away from Tony – looking out into the sea toward Greenland. Steve’s focus changes, “It’s cold here. Blustery. Riding with you – that was great. Now, this is beautiful but cold. I never liked the cold. Ma and me, we lost power one winter. Not because of an ice storm or anything. We lost it because we couldn’t afford the bill. We went three weeks with no heat in the middle of February. I thought I would freeze to death. I was only like ten or something. Ma cried at night when she thought I was sleeping. The idea that you could change all that. With cheap efficient clean energy? Tony, you’re going to save the world.”

Tony swallows down his pride, swallows down the words he wants to say - _who’s going to save me?_ Instead, he nods and clamps his hand around Steve’s. “I get it, Steve, I do. But sometimes I just can’t be the savior or a martyr for the world. I just have to be me.”

“I know.” It seems like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. He changes topics again. “Time for a ride back?”

“Let’s sit on the pier for a little while. I just want to listen to the waves,” Tony says, and Steve agrees. They sit down on the edge of the pier. Tony closes his eyes and feels the pelt of the cold air on his face. “It’s amazing how much we can lose and how much we can gain.” He knows he’s being oblique. Maybe Steve will see through him. “Sometimes, it’s hard to see the good through the bad.”

“Yeah, I know. When I lost Peggy, I thought I lost my world,” Steve says. “She was everything to me.”

“What did you do?”

“Isolated myself, didn’t listen to my friends. Drank a little, but that usually made me sick. So, I stopped that. Didn’t eat.”

“Self-destructive?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Lost too much weight. Got sick. Sam and Bucky, my friends, they had to have an intervention. Or whatever you want to call it.”

“Yeah, same here. I drank. A lot. Was drunk for months, I think. A lot of it is just a smear of unrecorded time in my head. When I first went blind, I nearly went insane trying to figure out the passage of time. Drinking made me not care,” Tony says. “Rhodey and Happy intervened. I didn’t know Pepper at the time. I was lucky. They saved my life.”

“Me too,” Steve says. “I worked my way back. It wasn’t easy. I still blamed myself. No one, not Sam, not Bucky, not anyone else can convince me that the failure of that mission isn’t my fault. People died on my watch. It will always be my fault.”

Tony grasps Steve’s hand in both of his. “I know that feeling. I should have taken the keys from my dad. He was flat out too drunk to drive. But I let him. And look what happened. It’s my fault.”

“It’s your father’s fault,” Steve replies.

“And it’s the terrorists that killed your fiancé fault. But we can say that until we’re blue in the face and it’s not going to convince either one of us, is it?”

Steve scoffs. “You’re right. But I am getting blue in the face. It’s really cold out here.”

“Let’s get back. You can make some of your famous hot chocolate!” Tony declares and climbs to his feet. His foot catches on the edge of the deck and twists. In seconds, he teeters and slips toward the water. A hand catches him and hauls him up and away from oblivion and the frigid waters of the Labrador Sea. Steve wraps his arms around Tony, steadying him on the dock. The length of his body presses up against Steve, chest, abdomen, pelvis, legs. 

Steve rubs his hand up and down his back as Tony shudders. He almost fell. Into the sea. Blind. He almost fell. The air thins and he tenses. It’s always been a secret terror, something he keeps hidden away, buried deep and dark inside the recesses of his consciousness. It is his consciousness and not his subconsciousness. He knows the terror of not being able to do something for himself – like crossing a street, or finding the strawberries in a grocery store, or being able to tune his speakers in the lab. Having his sight robbed from him by a freak accident caused by his father twisted his consciousness so he is always prepared, always ready for the unknown, the unseen. Yet, here he is nearly toppling off a pier into the icy waters of the Labrador Sea. 

It’s not going to happen. Not to him. Never.

He tears out of Steve’s arms. “I need to go home. Back to the cabin. I have to work on the upgrade. Now.”

Steve doesn’t budge and it pisses Tony off. “I thought we were playing hooky.”

“Either bring me back or so help me give me my damned helmet so I can drive back myself.”

Steve makes a small startled click with his throat; he must have tried to muffle his shock. “Okay. Sorry.” He offers his hand and leads Tony from the dock to the shore. He doesn’t remark on his sudden about face. He helps him with the helmet and then climbs onto the motorcycle. 

Tony doesn’t watch the landscape, doesn’t care for the white clouds in the too blue sky, or the fields of late summer wildflowers swaying in the gentle winds. All he wants is to get back to his lab and to kill the fear striking a rapid beat to his heart.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve starts to worry at the 20 hour mark. They’ve been sitting in the laboratory for nearly 24 hours, the sun came up a few hours ago and all they’ve eaten is a pizza that Wanda sent down to the laboratory for dinner last night. Steve’s eyes cross and sting as he stares at the code. They’ve made progress, no doubt about that, but he’s tired and he can’t see straight anymore. On the other hand, Tony’s bounding with frenetic energy. His hair spikes up, his sightless eyes gleam, he’s over the moon with excitement about their progress. Steve needs sleep. 

When he glances over at Tony talking with Friday over his computer interface, Steve realizes he shows no signs of slowing down or resting for even a little while. Steve blames himself, the whole fiasco at the pier. He’d been so happy on the bike and then when they got to the shore, how Tony stood close to him, talked with him. It delighted Steve and that warm feeling he’d been experiencing for days now, deep in the hollow of his chest spread out. Watching Tony so relaxed with himself, so happy had given Steve hope that even if the implant upgrade failed or worse, Tony could be free, could be blissful – with Steve. It was damned selfish. Tony would call it ableist. 

It isn’t that Steve wants Tony to depend on him – nothing is farther from the truth. He wants Tony to succeed. The progress he’s made on all his inventions and projects has been nothing short of brilliant and awe inspiring. In the short time they’ve been on the island, Tony will be able to bring back several new innovations for his company that may very well change the course of the world from smart streets to real clean energy. His one stumble has been the implant and its software upgrade to stop the headaches. Steve half blames himself. During Tony’s search for an assistant one of the requirements had been knowledge of biomedicine and, while Steve’s a quick study, he is by no means an expert. If he had more background information on the physiology of the brain, he might be able to help Tony. Right now, all he is – is a monkey to type out the code and read it. Well, a little more than a monkey. A tired exhausted little more than a monkey getting frustrated kind of person that isn’t what Tony needs.

“Do you think we could break for a bit?” Steve asks. Even his voice sounds tired.

Tony perks up and spins on his stool. “Really? I’m busting out here.”

“That’s because you’ve consumed about a dozen cups of coffee, two Mountain Dews, and I think too many 5 hour energy drinks that might just cause your heart to explode.” Steve yawns. “Can I go and get a shower, at least?” 

“We’re close, Steve. Really close. I just need to get some more-.”

Steve hops off his stool and shakes his head. He rubs at his eyes. “If I don’t get at least a shower to wake me up you’re going to have gibberish for code. Please, Tony.”

“Well, if you need to. I have to call Brucie Bear anyhow.” 

Steve stops before he leaves. “Brucie Bear?” Does Tony have a boyfriend that Steve never heard about? Steve swallows down the thickness in his throat and blames it on being exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah. Bruce Banner. I told you about him. He’s the one who did the studies with his class for me. Doctor of something or other? I think it’s biochemistry or bioengineering. I have a conference call with him, today.” Tony beams. “We’re so close, Steve! I know it’s going to work.”

“Great, great.” He feels bad that he can’t muster anymore enthusiasm, but he needs something other than cold pizza in his gut and disgustingly strong coffee. “I’ll be back.”

“Hasta la vista, baby!” Tony grins and gets right back to work.

Steve gazes at him for a moment, before he turns on his heel and heads back to the living space of the cabin. He’ll have to be quick about it. Who knows what crazy stuff Tony will try without him there? Regardless of sight, Tony is a maniac in the lab. He loves to try new things, and nothing intimidates him. The more dangerous the better. 

Even though Steve wants nothing more than to drop into bed, he ignores it as he enters his bedroom suite. He shrugs off his clothes and goes directly to the shower. Turning on the faucets he steps into the stone tiled shower, closes the glass doors. The water beats down on him and he closes his eyes, thinking about Tony. He hasn’t thought about his art or his comic book story in a while. It’s really all been about Tony. Even his drawings for his book have transformed into Tony. He smiles. He wishes he hadn’t screwed up so badly on the drive. But still, Tony is a force, a tidal force. A gravitational force. Steve can’t seem to not want to be near him. On his days off, Steve finds reasons to hang around close to the house. Sure, he’s run the island, even swam in the frigid waters, but more often than not he doesn’t leave. Tony’s even offered to have him go overnight to the mainland to get away. Steve’s never taken him up on it. 

He scrubs away the fatigue or tries. When he was in the army, he spent many hours on watch sleep deprived. He’s gotten soft in the area of sleep. Of course, the idea of sleeping with Tony hasn’t crossed his mind – or at least he’s denied the idea. Just holding Tony yesterday after he nearly slipped off the dock sent a thrill through him that still causes a coil deep in his groin and he has to turn the water to cold to stop from fantasizing about his boss. 

That’s enough of that. He gets out of the shower, turns off the water, and towels dry. He needs to make Tony get some sleep and something to eat, maybe not in that order. When he suggested either one during the long overnight haul, Tony mumbled and ignored him. Steve needs a new plan of attack. Going to his room, he pulls out his jeans and t-shirt, slips on his boxer briefs and then dresses quickly. As he passes the sketchbook near the side of his bed, he opens the pad. Numerous drawings of Tony’s hands grace the pages. He’s never seen such beautifully elegant hands, work hands, hands that deftly move over objects with such skill and grace Steve longed to capture that magic in his sketches. He’s not even sure he’s done them justice. Other pages are portraits of Tony, of Vision, of Wanda and of Pietro. Steve’s done landscapes and still lifes, but what he really loves are the ones he’s done of Tony. Especially his hands. So skilled and talented. Steve wonders how they would feel on his bare skin, how they would caress, and tantalize.

God. He rolls his eyes. He needs to get his brain under control. Grabbing his phone, he checks the contacts. Pepper had given him a list of Tony’s contacts for those just in case moments. He calls her first but fails to get in touch with her when he finds out that she’s in D.C. at a meeting for the company. The assistant asks if it’s an emergency and Steve decides it’s not. 

“No issues. Just checking in.” Steve says his goodbyes and then flips through the contacts again. “James Rhodes.” He hates to bother an active duty service member, but he needs some advice. He hits the number. It takes a few rings.

“Colonel Rhodes?”

“Hi Colonel, do you remember me, I’m working for Tony Stark,” Steve says and winces. That’s the worse introduction he’s ever heard. “Steve Rogers. I’m Mister Stark’s Personal Assistant.”

“Hey, yeah, I remember you. Tell me Tony’s hasn’t done something half-assed and gotten himself in trouble or worse is in the hospital?” Rhodes asks.

“No, nothing like that. He’s a little upset, though, and I think that’s gotten him into this binge of work that I can’t seem to stop.” Steve sits down on the bed.

“What happened?”

“Well, we went for a motorcycle drive-.”

“He used his helmet, didn’t he?” Rhodes concludes.

“Got it in one. And he’s not supposed to use anything because we’re trying to see if we allow some time before he uses it again if we can decrease the side effects like migraines and prolong the use of his glasses beyond the 3 plus hours it was at during the beginning of August. The time was deteriorating.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Pepper updated me. That reporter is not letting go. She’s making a big stink about this gala and how it will show the real Tony Stark,” Rhodes says. “He has to be ready for this. So, what’s the problem? I mean he’s working on the upgrade, right?”

“That’s just it. Since we went on that ride and he nearly slipped off the dock, he’s not stopped,” Steve says. It hasn’t been that long, perhaps Steve is over reacting.

“What? He slipped? What happened?” Rhodes sounds irritated, even angry at Steve. 

He spells out the whole story. After he finishes, Steve says, “He was fine. We were taking a break from all the work. I thought it was a good idea for him to relax a little.”

“How’d that go for you?”

“Not great,” Steve admits.

“For Tony, working is relaxing. If you want him to rest and to sleep, then that’s a different story. At times like these he either needs a totally new distraction or he needs to fall asleep on his feet.”

Steve snorts. “That doesn’t help me much.”

“Let him run with his ideas, but if it gets dangerous you can always initiate protocol shut down.”

“What? What’s that?” 

“It’s a protocol Pepper had put in place. All you have to do is initiate the code. Is this your mobile?” Rhodes asks.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll send you the code. Good luck. I have to go.”

“Thanks, Colonel.”

“Good luck, Captain,” Rhodes says and the connection ends. In just a few minutes Steve receives the code and instructions to input it into the computer. He’s not going to do it, not any time soon, but he’ll keep it in his back pocket literally, just in case. 

Before he even pushes his phone into his pocket a knock raps at his door. “Come.”

The door pops open and Tony steams in. “I got it, Steve. I actually got it. The code’s done. I just need you to review it with me. I think the upgrade is perfect!”

“I-wait what?” Steve squints at Tony. 

Tony uses his regular cane to tap his way over to Steve. “Do you get it? I finished. Come on, I need your help with the installation.”

“I haven’t even gone over the code. We haven’t verified it.”

“I did talk to text. Verified everything with Friday.” Tony’s nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Geez, how long was I in the shower?” Steve glances at the bathroom. It didn’t seem that long. 

“Too long,” Tony says and grabs Steve’s arm. “Come on. Now.”

“You haven’t slept in 24 hours Tony. I think you need to sleep on this beforehand.” This all seems too fast to Steve. Way too fast.

“Come on or I’ll get Pietro to help me and that kid will skip steps to get down. Always wants to do everything too fast,” Tony says. He tugs again. “Come on.”

“God, you’re like a kid at Christmas.” Steve relents because he has no other choice, really. He takes the lead down the stairs and guides Tony to the kitchen instead of the ground floor laboratory. “First, we eat.”

“We have old pizza.” Tony stands stock still in the entrance way of the kitchen. It’s spooky how he knows where he is.

“Operative word there is old, Tony. I’m making sub sandwiches. What kind would you like?” Steve says and starts taking out the supplies. He might not be a great cook, not like Wanda, but he can make a pretty good sub. “What kind of sub do you want?”

Tony resigns himself to the fact he’s going to have to eat to get Steve to join him in the lab, so he sidles onto a stool and says, “The works. I’d like Italian dressing, skip the onions, and add pickles.”

“You got it.” Steve works efficiently. His unit always like when they weren’t deployed, and he would have them over to his apartment. He’d always put together a slew of different subs and finger foods. “Any fruit. Apples? Oranges?”

“Has Pepper been talking about my bad eating habits again?”

Steve chuckles. “No, I’ve been sitting right next to you watching how you ignore the vegetables in the plate even when I fake you out and tell you they are where the meat is supposed to be.”

“I’ll take blueberries.”

“Sure thing.” Steve finishes up the subs and puts a bowl of fresh blueberries for snacking next to Tony’s right hand. “Here you go. Just as you ordered, sir.” He sits next to Tony and takes a huge bit out of his sandwich. As he chews he realizes he forgot to get anything to drink. Swallowing quickly – enough that it hurts – he says, “Can I get you some water?”

“Geez, what the hell? How about coffee?”

“How about no. You’ve had too much caffeine. You might never sleep again.” Steve ignores Tony’s grumbles and pours the water anyhow. He sets it down. “Water at 1 o’clock.”

Tony feigns Steve mouthing at him but dutifully eats his sub with gusto and drinks the water. After Steve finishes eating, he cleans up the kitchen and Tony devours the blueberries. He dusts his hands off and says, “I didn’t know I was that hungry, but now can we go?”

Steve flips the towel over his shoulder. “You should sleep.”

“I should do a lot, but right now I’m going to finish my project. Are you coming to do your job or are you going to mother hen me to death?” Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re the boss,” Steve says and stands alongside Tony as he tosses the towel to the counter. 

“Don’t get snotty at me,” Tony says, and they head to the basement.

With the shower and the full stomach, Steve fights to stay awake as they go line after line to ensure that the talk to text worked and everything is validated. Once they finish, Tony wants to immediately do the upgrade. “We’re ready.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should have Friday do one more-.”

“Nope. It’s time now.” Tony picks up a large silver briefcase. He slams shut the laptop and then packs the suitcase with the computer and wires. 

“What are you doing?”

“It’s going to take a few hours to get the download to the implant updated over wireless so I do it while I sleep.”

“What? You’ve been holding out on me!” The idea of sleeping hits Steve like a brick. His shoulders sag and he blinks the sting out of his eyes. He’s desperate for sleep. 

“And the best part is, you get to stay up and watch me,” Tony smiles as he locks the case. How he found everything he wanted, Steve hasn’t a clue.

“What? Wait? I can’t sleep?” Steve says. “No, that’s not right. Tony I’m exhausted. I’m not the kind of person who stays up all night and doesn’t have an issue with it. I need sleep.” A part of him internally screams. His eyes burn with fatigue. 

“Well someone has to watch the read outs and see how it’s going,” Tony says and taps his lip with his finger. “Okay, why don’t we solicit everyone’s help. Vision, Wanda, Pietro. They could all take shifts.”

“That could work,” Steve says but he knows he won’t sleep well if he knows Tony’s upgrade is going on without his oversight. He needs to be there. “Maybe I could bed down on your couch in your suite or something? Close? Just in case?”

“Sounds like an amazing idea.” Tony grins. “This could be the start -.”

“Don’t say it,” Steve says and can’t help but laugh. “Let’s get you upstairs and I’ll get the rest of the crew up to speed.” 

Tony puts his hand up in Steve’s general direction. “I can get upstairs on my own. Get everyone and we can start. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” Steve says and watches as Tony leaves the laboratory, using the knuckles of his hand across the walls to find his way. “Wonder if this means I’m losing my job.” He finds he doesn’t really care about the job but the fact he will be cut out of Tony’s circle completely. People like Tony don’t socialize with people like Steve. It’s not done. “Well, that five second dream was great while it lasted.” He shrugs and sets to get the rest of the staff up to date on the project.

Pietro is the easiest to find. He’s out on the running path stretching and getting ready for an afternoon jog. Steve corrals him and sends him into the house. It takes another half hour before he finds both Vision and Wanda. He never wants to think about how he found them again. He had no idea. He doesn’t need that picture in his brain, but now he can’t unsee it. Wanda can’t stop giggling at his obvious embarrassment and Vision stays stone cold froze in his reaction of being caught in his birthday suit in the pantry. 

“Well, whenever you’re ready. Come on upstairs. We need some help with the project.” Steve hurries away from the kitchen and races up the stairs. He ends up in his own bedroom with the door closed and locked. He can’t lie to himself. Just seeing two people intimate with each other leaves him anxious and lost. He hasn’t wanted sex – even jerking himself off – since Peggy died. 

Steve sinks down onto the floor. His mind a whirlwind of images. Touching himself has been out of the question. Every time he’s tried just to relieve tension, it’s been a disaster. He watched his hand grasp his erection and it would be Peggy, over him, her hand stroking him. He would lose it then, end up a wreck. Not from a satisfying climax but a horrifying moment of pure self-hatred and guilt. But then there was this afternoon, when he ached to touch himself and think about Tony’s dusky hand against his pale skin, grasping him, holding him until he jerked to completion. Even now when he thought of it, his cock twitched and throbbed in his jeans. He closes his eyes, thinking of it. Remembering the images, he just saw.

Fucking into Tony, bending him against the wall, spending himself into Tony’s tight ass. So hot, so constricting, so fucking tight. He presses the heel of his hand against his cock, trying to stop himself from exploding into his pants. God, he’s not a teenager and his boss needs him. He has to get it under control, but his heart won’t stop galloping in his chest and his erection feels heavy, thick against his inner thigh. It’s been so long.

Climbing to his feet, Steve rushes to the bathroom and strips off his jeans, briefs, and shirt. He’s in the shower in a second, warm water spilling over him. He closes his eyes and doesn’t feel Peggy take him by the hand, instead it’s Tony there. Before him it would be Tony, sliding down onto his knees, but his hands are all over Steve. Hands that are elegant and delicate, yet rough and worked. He would love the touch of them, the dichotomy of the grace with the coarseness of each finger, the calluses on the palms. Steve glides his own hands over his nipples, twisting only slightly, just enough for a gasp, and then he slides his hands downward. Tony would be so much more purposeful, so much more refined than Steve with his bulky hands. He slides down the curvature of his pelvis and imagines Tony’s hands, his fingers lingering there, just teasing him. He would cry out begging.

“Please,” he says into the beat of the water. 

Tony would take him into his mouth, his hands caressing his cock before licking the length of his erection, but Steve only has his hand and he takes himself without any hesitation. He strokes, thrusting firmly into his fisted hand, wishing all the more for Tony to be at his feet, touching him, sucking him. Just the thought of Tony’s lips stretched over his thick erection, the head of his cock pounding into the back of Tony’s throat – just enough to make tears leak out of his eyes, causes Steve to moan in horrible need. He’s undone, unmade, broken by the desire. He fucks into his hand, throwing his head back as the water splashes down on him. He yells out as he scrapes a fingernail along the head of his cock and then he’s coming, hard and fast and surrendering. He stumbles and goes to his knees, bending over to the floor of the shower as the water hits him. Panting into the stream of water, Steve shudders with the aftershocks and finds he’s crying silently. He wants so much, so much of what he can’t have. It takes long moments before he can piece himself back together. He’s shattered, shards jagged and splintered. When he manages to get to his feet, Steve turns off the water and staggers out of the shower like a drunk. He sways a little, hungover from his climax. He pulls a towel from the shelf and wraps it around his waist. That’s when he hears the pounding on his door.

“Shit.”

He runs to the door, holding the towel firmly in place. Opening it, he finds Tony standing there in his sleeping pants and a ratty old Pink Floyd t-shirt. “We’re waiting. What’s going on? Are you?” Sniffing, he reaches out and touches Steve’s arm. “You’re wet.”

“I took a shower.”

“Didn’t you just do that?” Tony’s hand drifts to his abdomen. “Are you naked?” 

Steve steps away from Tony. “I’m wearing a towel. I spilled something and had to clean up.”

“Must have been something big. Do you want me to get Vision in here to help you clean it up?”

“Nope. No. Not at all,” Steve says. He’s not even sure how he’s going to look Vision in the eye after what he saw. “I’m just going to get my clothes and be right there. See you in a minute.”

“Well, I won’t see you, but you know what I mean,” Tony says, feigning laughter, and claps. “Always a good one. Hurry up. I’m ready to go!”

“Sure,” Steve says and gently pushes Tony out of the door. Tony sniffed him. The shame boils up like an ugly canker sore. “Did he smell it?” Steve smells his hand – nothing – just soap and water. “Shit.” He doesn’t have time to theorize over Tony’s incredible sense of timing and perception. He heads back to his bureau, pulls out his sleeping pants and a t-shirt with the preamble to the Constitution on it. He barely finishes drying before he dons his clothes and throws the towel in the laundry bin.

In seconds he enters Tony’s open doorway to find Wanda, Vision, and Pietro waiting in the lounge area of the master suite. Both Vision and Wanda avoid looking at him. He’s thankful for that, lord only knows Steve thinks the flush to his cheeks will spread to the tips of his ears especially since – like a teenager – he just showered to jerk off because of what he saw. He curses inwardly but frames his expression to be neutral. Mercifully, Tony’s not in the lounge area at all.

Tony steps out of the bedroom proper. “Steve do you have the glasses?”

“Hmm. No? They’re in your bedroom in the nightstand drawer.”

Tony hoots and claps his hands. “All this time, they were just that close. You are a sneaky bastard.” 

Steve frowns. Tony’s too keyed up to sleep. It’s going to be a long night – he peers at the light sneaking in through the blinds – or day. Steve’s gotten to the point where he’s overly tired and probably won’t be able to sleep himself, especially with the hell of guilt eating away at his brain. His brain circles his absolute disgust with himself that he would masturbate to images of his boss. He wants to pound his head against the wall to knock some sense into it. 

All the while Steve mentally self-flagellates, Tony buzzes around the room. He has the laptop computer set up on his nightstand with the glasses hooked up via USB port – apparently the arm turns into a connector. He’s explaining to them as he works, “The glasses will be upgraded but I’m hardwiring it for the upgrade because it will also backup the implant at the same time. Of course, the implant can only upgrade and backup through wireless.”

Steve eyes Wanda and Vision and then clears his throat. “Tony needs someone to watch over him during the upgrade. He’s going to get some sleep and we want to make sure he doesn’t have any issues-.”

“Yeah like I stroke out or something.”

“Fuck,” Pietro murmurs. 

Tony ignores Pietro’s outburst and points to the computer screen. “You’ll be watching the screen. I have normal sleep brain wave patterns programmed into it. You’ll compare that for any anomalies. There will be some, but it shouldn’t be too off from normal sleep waves.” Tony sets the glasses on the side table. 

“I think we should set up a rotating schedule,” Steve says. “I’ll start. I’m going to be sleeping in the couch over there anyhow. Then Vision, Pietro, Wanda, and then me again. Two hours each. If anything questionable happens at all, anything, wake me up. We’ll call the doctor.”

“You’ll wake me up first,” Tony instructs and grimaces at Steve. “It might just be a nightmare or something.” 

Deflating some, Steve acknowledges Tony’s direction. “Right, we should wake you up first. Any questions?”

Vision and Wanda stay mum and Pietro only shrugs. 

“Well, then let’s start. I’ll see Vision in two hours,” Steve says. They all file out and Steve stands helplessly at the foot of the bed, gazing at Tony as he finishes keying in the download sequence. 

“Are you just going to stand there? It’s kind of creepy.”

Steve almost remarks that he feels like a creep but swallows his words. “I’m going to go and get my sketch pad from my room. I like to draw a little before I sleep.”

“I like to read,” Tony says. “Go. Hurry.”

When Steve returns, Tony’s already in bed with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand and a book laying on his lap. “A little tonic to ease my worried mind.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Steve asks and sets the sketchbook on the table next to the couch. 

“It’s only a bit and it will help me fall asleep. Once I do, you need to just hit enter and the download will start.” Tony sips the drink. “Want some?”

He shakes his head and then says, “No, thanks.”

“Are you just going to lurk or are you going to sit down here.” He pats the empty side of the bed. 

A deer in headlights has a better chance than Steve does at that moment. He shifts his attention between the bed and the couch, half glad that Tony couldn’t see him. He gathers up his sketchpad and pencils. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Steve wills his heart to stop the stampede in his chest. 

“Are you okay?”

“I-hmm. I forgot to brush my teeth,” Steve says which is the lamest excuse ever.

“There’s extra toothbrushes in the bathroom.” Tony points. “I sometimes drop them in the toilet and so I need extra. Top left drawer of the vanity. Hope you like spearmint toothpaste.”

Steve walks mechanically over to the bathroom, pulls out the toothbrush and yanks it out of the wrapping. He smears toothpaste on the brush and stares at himself in the mirror. The idea of sitting next to Tony in _bed_ zings through his brain like an electric shock. He squeezes his eyes closed and tells himself to remember this feeling. He needs to translate stuff like this into his comic book. He’s great at art, but not so much at writing. 

“What going on in there?” Tony calls.

Steve hisses. His mouth foams and he still hasn’t spit out the paste yet. He finishes up and wipes his mouth. He chides himself. This isn’t a date. Tony’s not going to kiss him. He wets his hands and runs them through his hair, pushing it back. He can do this. He has to remain professional. His boss needs him to monitor the status of the upgrade. This isn’t a date.

“Okay,” he says as he rounds the bed and settles on the empty side. “I’m going to sketch.”

“You sound like you’re waiting for the guillotine.” Tony snickers and then takes a drink. “You know, I’m excited about this but also exhausted. Like I can’t believe that it was just yesterday that we went on the bike ride.”

“Yeah.” Steve hasn’t touched his sketchpad yet. 

“This has been wild ride, Steve. Just so wild. I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Tony says and downs the rest of the drink.

Steve sticks on the word ‘over’ in his head. Before he knows what he’s doing, he runs off at the mouth, “If this works is my job over? Like am I out of a job?” He can make it on what Tony’s paid him for probably nearly a year if he’s prudent. He can get more work, maybe sell the Iron Man comic to Thor and Jane. It’s possible. 

“What?” Tony laughs as he reaches out and touches his bedside table with one hand and then placing the empty glass on the coaster. “No. I always need a PA. This job isn’t just about you helping me with the glasses, Steve. I need you here. You’re an integral part of the team. Jarvis, Pepper, all of them. Hell, I might ask Wanda to come and cook so Ana will have some time off.”

“I don’t think she’ll want to leave,” Steve blurts out. 

Tony grins. “Because she’s canoodling with Vision?” 

“You know?” Steve rests against the pillows. His back muscles release the tension. 

“Yeah. It’s not like they’re very good about hiding it. Did you happen to walk in on them yet?” Tony slides down into the bed. He’s under the duvet and sheet; Steve is not.

“Hmm. Yeah. Kinda did today,” Steve says, and the warmth of embarrassment spreads over his face. 

“Yeah. I asked them not to do that. I’ll talk to them again.” Tony yawns. “I’m going to try and sleep.” He lays the book aside and closes his eyes. “No worries about the lights. I’m okay.”

“I’ll sketch for a bit.” Steve bends his knees and props the sketchbook on them as he digs out a sharpened pencil. He’s only working in graphite because it’s not as messy as a charcoal stick. He should work on his comic book sketches, but instead his gaze focuses on Tony. He starts to tentatively draw. Tony has his hand close to his face, in a lose fist under his chin. It’s serene. 

After some time, Tony speaks, “You’re drawing me, aren’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“You shifted how you were sitting on the bed,” Tony says. “When I can see again, will you share it with me, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve says and tries not to let the idea that Tony grouped Steve in with all the rest of his staff bubble to the surface. He might work with Tony on a day to day basis, but he’s staff, nonetheless. Nothing more. 

“When I’m your fake boyfriend, you’ll have to share it with me.” Tony smiles but it drifts away from his face. 

Steve wants to answer but silences his reply. He waits for at least another half hour before he’s sure that Tony’s breathing has evened out and slowed. He calls Tony’s name a few times just to be sure, and then he slips off the bed and hits the enter key. He only hesitates a second before he does it. He can’t not do it. But the fear is real. What if something happens? They’re on an isolated island far from any medical help. He needs to believe in Tony and not his fears born out of years of his sickness or his mother’s. The computer softly beeps when he hits the start. He watches the screen for a minute, but there’s nothing really to see, just the progress. Tony keyed in all the steps. Steve has nothing to do but wait. He has at least another hour before he can sleep as well. 

Instead of going back to the bed, he selects the couch. There’s a throw over the back that he uses as he lies lengthwise on it. He’ll entertain himself with his phone. He finds a text from Pepper.

_Following up. I heard you called_

He types his reply, _Tony just went on a 24 hour working jag. Talked to Rhodes. All’s good._

_Is he okay?_

Steve considers reporting to Pepper that Tony’s chancing an upgrade of the implant right now but decides against it. _He’s sleeping now._

_Good. Gala all planned. Everhart is bursting, talking about it every night on her news show – if you can call it that._

_Do you really think this will shut her up?_

It takes Pepper a while to answer. _Sorry. Meetings. I hope it does. She or someone else comes around every few years. This distraction hurts the company, but it hurts Tony more. A lot more._

Steve glances at Tony. He’s quietly snoring, the download happening through the ether. “Well, we can’t have that.” He types, _He’s holding up well._

_I’m glad he has you Steve. See you soon._

That’s the end of that. Steve tucks his phone under the cushion and he hears the door creak open. Vision lightly walks into the room. He acknowledges Steve on the couch, and he takes a chair to the side of the bed. The windows are shaded and the lighting in the room is low, but Steve doesn’t ask for full darkness. He suspects that Tony had Vision prep the room specifically for Steve since lighting doesn’t matter to him. He turns over and pulls the blanket up to his shoulders. It’s not quite long enough to cover his feet, but he doesn’t mind. 

His brain jumbles the events of the last few days. It seemed that they’d spent a good amount of time ambling, strolling along with the project but then everything sped up as if they were suddenly in a race. Steve doesn’t like the feel of it. It’s too rushed. For him, in the army, he needed everything double and triple checked. He doesn’t doubt the Tony worked his controls, checked his math, verified the results of his tests, but it all fell together too fast at the end. Maybe that is how science works. Steve doesn’t know, he’s not a scientist. Tony is. All the wonders that Tony will be able to-.

He stops that train of thought. Ableist. That’s what that is. Tony can do anything. He just needs the accommodations to deal with his blindness. Hell, look at him now. He’s peacefully sleeping as he downloads a program into an implant in his brain. Who the hell else in this whole world can say they can successfully do something like that? He might be able to cure certain types of blindness. Steve turns over so he can see Tony from the couch. The curve of his shoulder, the line of his jaw, the mess of dark curls in the bed – it’s like watching the stars in the dark sky at night. So beautiful yet so very mysterious and far away. Untouchable. Steve closes his eyes. Somewhere along the way, he falls asleep with his thoughts.

Pietro wakes him up for his watch and Steve thanks him. He notes that Tony’s moved and doesn’t look at peaceful anymore. “How has he been?”

“Restless, but he hasn’t woken up fully,” Pietro whispers. “I’m going back to bed. Wanda and Vision are at Vision’s cottage if you need them.” He indicates the notepad on the table near the couch. “Phone number’s there.”

“Thanks.” Pietro is gone before he can say another word. 

Steve visits the bathroom and then returns, plucks his phone from its hiding place, and flips open his sketchpad. He thinks about sharing the sketches with Tony. The ones of his hands, his lips, his eyes. It thrills him and terrifies him at the same time. Imagining Tony seeing himself the way that Steve visualizes him throws light into the darkness, like water across a lake at night. It ripples through Steve with some kind of hope but also the dread of the darkness. Before he can pick up his pencil again, Tony stirs and mumbles.

Steve looks over at him. Tony blinks and looks like he’s staring directly at Steve. For a second, Steve thinks he is seeing him. His heart jumps in his chest and he says, “Tony?”

Tony jerks and blinks again. “Hmm?” His eyes don’t focus. “Is that you, dear?”

Steve frowns at the endearment. “It’s Steve.”

“Ah, my Adonis come to torture me. What time is it?” 

“A little after 1 am. You slept for around 8 hours.”

Tony grapples around the bed as if he’s looking for something. He sits up and scrubs his hands through his hair. “Is the upgrade finished? Could you check?”

“Okay,” Steve says and puts down the sketchpad. He goes to the nightstand and logs into the computer. As he works, he adds, “I wanted to tell you, Tony, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“What?”

“The dock. That you nearly fell in. That’s on me. I should have been more careful.” He checks the program and the box pops up that states the download was successful. “Looks like the download checks out. Says it’s successful.”

Tony beams. He reaches out, finds Steve’s arm, and then grasps his hand. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Not a minute of it. And the dock? That was as much me as you. I shouldn’t have been so careless.” He makes grabby hands. “My glasses. Give me my glasses.”

“Are you sure?” Steve picks up the glasses. This is the moment. 

“Sure am.” He squeezes Steve’s arm. “Can’t wait to see them pecs!” He giggles. “Pepper would kill me. I’m harassing you.”

“A little, but I’ll mark it down as your being overly enthusiastic for the project,” Steve says and disconnects the glasses from the computer. He holds onto them for a few seconds. They’re heavier than normal glasses, and Steve suspects all the hardware built into the frames. How Tony managed to conceive, design, and build them, Steve cannot even imagine. He does know that he had early versions of them when he was in his twenties, though the photographs he’s seen show him with thicker lenses, a lanyard that attached to the frames that Steve thinks must have linked to a pocket processor at one time. It all changed when Tony invented the implant and found Doctor Strange to surgically place it in his brain. How Tony convinced Strange to do is another thing Steve will never know. It set Tony on this path toward a precipice. This will either work, or he will go down in flames. Those flames being migraines or worse yet a stroke. 

“Steve?” Tony says and presses his fingers on Steve’s wrist. “The glasses?”

“You’re sure everything’s ready?” Steve asks. 

“You can check the laptop it should have a read out on the status, if you want. I included tests in the download and upgrade. If it greenlights it, we’re good to go.”  
xxx  
Right there on the screen blinks several lists of tests and all of them shine green. Everything is set to go. Steve only has to take the step, the leap with Tony. He steadies his fears, after all he’s been to combat he knows how to control his doubts. He touches Tony’s hand, then turns over his palm, and places the glasses there. “Everything’s green.” He hopes Tony doesn’t hear the worry in his voice.

“Great,” Tony says. “Here we go.” Tony slips the glasses on, touches a pressure point on the back of his neck, and then the side of the glass frame. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Steve goes to yank the glasses off, but Tony blocks his hands.

“Turn on the lights, all of them.” 

Steve hesitates only a second, before he follows the request. He hits the light switch at the entrance and turns on the lamps on the nightstands as well as the floor lamp in the sitting area near the couch where Steve slept. He stands next to the unlit stone fireplace and waits as Tony makes his way out of the bed and surveys the room; his mouth slightly open. Usually when Tony wears the glasses in public, he also wears contacts that link with the glasses to give the illusion that his eyes see. It’s disconcerting to have him walking around the suite, scanning the room with sightless eyes. 

“It’s marvelous. The upgrade. Dear God, Steve.” He stops and looks directly at Steve. It might be his imagination, but it damn well appears as if Tony’s eyes do see him. “God damn it, Steve, I – it’s amazing. Before the resolution sucked, the processors had to digitally recreate missing pixels and it gave a grainy and often cartoony feel to what I saw. Now,” he gasps. “Now, it’s so different.” 

“Different better?” Steve realizes he’s rigid with anticipation, shock. He doesn’t know. If this hadn’t worked, what would he have done? 

“So much better. It looks and feels real. God, look at you!” Tony rushes up to him and touches his face, feeling the curvature of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw. “I felt this, I touched you, and now, now I can see it all.”

“You saw me before,” Steve points out, but he doesn’t want Tony to take his hands away. He desperately wants to cup Tony’s hands to his face. 

Tony shakes his head. “Not like this, not like this at all. Sure, I knew you were an Adonis, but this – you even have some green in the blue of your eyes. It’s enchanting. Absolutely, darling.” Tony giggles. He’s giddy with it, heady with the experience. He dashes over to the blinds and curtains, shifting them open, only to find the darkness of the island. “The moon, where’s the moon?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” 

“There has to be Northern Lights, we should be able to see them,” Tony says and races past Steve toward the stairs. 

Following him, Steve says, “Be careful. Tony!”

It doesn’t matter. Tony runs to the front door, opens it, and is outside on the lawn, staring up into the sky. “I haven’t seen the sky in so long, not the night sky,” he’s saying by the time Steve catches up to him. “All the years, I never used the glasses to see the pure night sky away from the city. I never had the opportunity. Wearing the glasses for the limited time I could, I always ended up having to take them off by the time it was night. This is marvelous.” He reaches out and grasps Steve’s hand. “Let’s get further away from the house. I want to see the sky without the interference with the house’s lights.”

“Tony, it’s the middle of the night,” Steve says and notes they are both barefooted. He turns back to the house, dragging his feet. “We should at least get shoes on.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Tony tugs him along onto the grassy hill near the cabin. “This way.”

“Do you even know where you’re going? We should take a flashlight or something,” Steve says but allows himself to be led up the small hill to the other side. The hill isn’t quite large enough to completely block the light from the house, but it looks out towards the wooded area and the sea beyond it. 

Tony tilts his head up to the sky and gapes. “Look at it. Look at all the stars. It’s so-.” He falls silent and Steve notices they’re still holding hands. “The resolution never used to be this good. I can see individual stars. Finally. I can’t wait for morning. I’ll be able to see the leaves on the trees.” His voice cracks. Steve glances at Tony and, even in the sliver of moonlight, sees tears wet his cheeks. Something soft and abiding envelops Steve. Part of him wants to celebrate and the other part wants so desperately to protect Tony, to ensure he never has to experience pain again. That this can be his life – forever.

But he has to crack the glass bubble. “We still don’t know if it will solve the migraine problem.”

Tony shifts his gaze to Steve. His eyes are bright with tears. “I know.” There’s something pleading in his voice. It tells Steve not to shatter this moment.

He nods. “You’ve done it, Tony. You really have. The next steps are inconsequential. You’ve done it.”

The expression, the light, the joy in Tony’s face breaks everything for Steve. He wants so much to kiss this man, to hold him and to rejoice. But that is not his place. Not at all. There’s a skip in time, a moment when a yearning passes over Tony’s face and then it’s gone and he’s clearing his throat and stepping away from Steve, breaking their handhold. 

“You’re right though. We have some tests to run. Make sure that I can tolerate the upgrade and that the implant stays stable.” He nods as if he’s trying to convince himself that he can’t have this quietude, this bliss, this joy at this moment. It’s too fragmentary and hopeful.

“We can sit and look at the stars for a while. We don’t have to go back to the house right away,” Steve says almost in a whisper. It’s cold out, but Steve doesn’t care. He wants to cherish this moment.

Tony doesn’t answer right away. The crescent moon illuminates his face. The dry tears glimmer like streaks of moonlight gracing his cheeks. Steve can’t help but want to touch them, and then he finds he is, wiping away the tears. “Stay.”

Tony nods and leans into Steve’s hand. “We did this together, Steve. I’m forever grateful for your help, but more, I could live a thousand years with you as my eyes.” Steve tries to blink away the tears that blur his vision, but it’s Tony who reaches up and catches them as they fall from his eyes. “Tell me I’m reading this right.”

His heart hammers in his chest so loudly Steve nearly misses Tony’s soft-spoken words. He pushes away his fears and, as Tony’s hand lingers against his cheek, he says, “You’re reading it right.”

It doesn’t matter then what unspoken fear lurk, Steve’s bending down and Tony’s moving forward, closing the gap between them. The thud of Steve heart then turns to a distant din and the wash of the ocean not so far away floods over him. When their mouths brush a tingle of sensation and then a full-blown explosion of everything he’s denied in the past few weeks. How much he’s wanted this; how much he’s dreamed of it. It resolves into the moment. 

Steve’s never felt like he’s a decent kisser; he always thought he needed more practice. Peggy would chide him and tell him how silly he was in her way with her pursed lips and cocked eyebrow. But this kiss with Tony is different than anything he’s experienced before in his life. The stars above them rove the skies but Steve’s discovered the truth of the ethereal here in his arms. He’s molten and hungry for it but at the same time satiated and drunk. A dizziness spins in him, but not one that sickens but excited and coils around deep within him. Tony nudges and plays with his tongue, he nips and tastes and he sends Steve into the stars and he’s chasing Tony, following his moves and enhancing them. When they break apart, Steve’s needs more, but the sting of air in his lungs stops him.

“That was,” Tony pauses and breathes, then rights his glasses. “That was very nice. Very.”

“Yes.” Steve’s voice comes out as a croak.

“I didn’t know,” Tony says, and he hasn’t moved away. He’s close to Steve, in his arms. “I haven’t been exactly inviting or flirty with you.”

“No. But you are amazing,” Steve chokes back the rest. He can’t blurt out how everything they do together, from biking to eating to working thrills him. How he looks forward to it in the morning, and how he mourns its loss at night. That’s too much. Way too much this early. “Let’s look at the stars for a while.”

They lie down on the grass, ignoring the wet dew. They end up there for hours, until they eventually turn around to watch the sun rise over the cabin below. The cool air doesn’t bother Steve at all, not with Tony so close. During the whole time, Tony keeps his hand on Steve’s. It feels right and comfortable. Steve hasn’t a clue what’s going to happen next, but he’s flying so high he can’t see the ground to land. 

The sun paints the sky with waves of red and orange and it reminds Steve of the old adage: _Red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky in morning, sailors take warning._ He frowns. It’s an old saying about weather, nothing more. He shifts and sits up; he can’t help himself. His bones ache with the cold; he feels old yet elated. It’s a strange dichotomy of emotions. Tony follows him, smiling with the same drunken look at Steve must have. Steve cups his face and asks, “No migraine.”

“No. I think it’s working. It has to be around 6 or so.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and all the hope and belief Tony’s had over the past month blossoms in Steve’s chest. He can’t hold it; it’s so huge. He manages to say, “Let’s go back to the house. Get some coffee, eggs. Whatever you want.”

“Your hot chocolate seems about right.” 

They’re wet and the wind has a decided chill to it. It might be the end of August but here Autumn has crept up on them and made its mark. Hesitantly, Steve reaches out and Tony grasps his hand. It’s so innocent and simple but it sends a shiver of pleasure through Steve. Walking through the dewy morning grasses wets their pajamas and Steve’s feet are positively frozen. When they get in the house, Tony’s talking about lighting a fire and Steve’s trying not to shiver. How did they stay outside so long and not freeze to death? He laughs inwardly but his face must betray him because Tony grins at him and kisses his cheek. 

“Change and then meet you in the kitchen for hot chocolate?”

“Sounds like a plan?” Steve’s mind whirls and he teeters on too much happiness. He’s heard of cherophobia before but never quite believed it. Tony salutes him and races out of the mud room through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Steve follows him trying to quell all his doubts and fears that happiness is just a fleeting emotion. Entering his room, he looks down at his red feet and they ache. He needs to shower again. Part of that conclusion makes him smile, even laugh a little. This time though he jumps in the shower and quickly goes through the motions of cleaning. It takes less than five minutes and his feet haven’t even defrosted all the way. He dries and then hangs up his towel this time. Dressing in jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, Steve heads back toward the kitchen. He thinks about stopping off at Tony’s suite, but stops. He hates to think that Tony would consider it too forward, like Steve’s expecting something beyond a kiss. He passes Tony’s room and goes directly to the kitchen.

He finds Wanda and Vision in the kitchen, thankfully just working. He smiles at them and Vision starts to apologize but Steve raises his hand. “Let’s just say we don’t talk about it and hope it never happens again.”

“It won’t,” Vision assures. Wanda nods.

“Tony would like some breakfast. Eggs, bacon. And I promised him some of my hot chocolate.” Steve joins Wanda on the working side of the island. 

“How has the upgrade gone?” Wanda asks. 

“Pretty well. He’s worn the glasses for well over five hours and no migraine. The resolution is fantastic according to his reports. It’s good. Very good.”

Wanda smiles and it’s sweet and wholesome. “I am so glad. I don’t know Mister Stark well. He’s barely here, but I am pleased for him.”

“Yes, so am I,” Steve returns. Vision has left the kitchen as they work silently side by side. She asks a few questions about his recipe for hot chocolate, but mostly she keeps to herself as she scrambles the eggs and adds a salt and pepper to season. She’s busy with the bacon when Vision yells from upstairs.

“Help! Steve! Help us!”

Steve forgets the pan of warming milk on the stovetop and runs to the back stairs. He takes them two at a time and follows Vision into Tony’s suite. “Oh Christ!” He halts in the bedroom when he spots Tony on the floor, convulsing. His glasses are thrown to the side as his body undergoes a seizure. 

Steve kneels next to him, pushing away a chair with sheer force of will to ensure that Tony doesn’t hit his head against the leg. He rolls Tony to his side and turns to Vision. “How long? When did it start?”

“Just before I called you. I came in to change the sheets on the bed.” 

Steve pulls out his phone and checks the time. “Go. Call Rhodes or Pepper. We need to know what to do in an emergency.” 

“Pepper said that we’re to call her directly. She’ll get medical help here as soon as possible,” Vision says. 

“Go then. Do that,” Steve says and notices the sheets strewn all over the floor. Tony grunts and drools and then clenches his teeth as if he’s fighting his own body. Slowly the seizure ends, and Steve catches a pillowcase and brings it over to wipe away the spittle. Tony flops back and his sightless eyes roam the room. Steve keeps talking. “I’m right here, Tony. You’re not alone. Do you feel my hand? I’m right here.”

Tony groans in response and his whole body shivers. For a second, Steve thinks that he might go into another convulsion, but instead, he clings to Steve. He’s frightened. Steve brushes the hair away from his face. He takes the pillowcase and cleans away the tears.

“I’m right here. You’re not hurt. Everything is okay. We’re calling Pepper. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just rest.”

Tony makes a grunting noise and then paws the air with his free hand. Steve captures his hand and brings it to his own chest with the other one. “I’m right here. You can feel my heart beating.” It feels like it might burst out of his chest. He holds back his terror – and the litany in his head – why didn’t he stop Tony? Why didn’t he make him wait? “Just hold on Tony.” He tries not to circle around to the idea of brain damage, of how Tony isn’t even speaking, of how lost and frantic he looks. 

Pietro rushes into the room. “Vision said that Pepper activated the party protocol. That means that there will be a medical evac helicopter here in a little less than an hour. Doctor Strange is in route to meet us at the airport and then fly to New York.”

“Okay,” Steve says and ignores the tears blocking his vision. “Could you tell Vision to pack up the room. I need to get some of the research from the lab-.”

Pietro kneels next to Steve. “I can stay with him.”

“Okay. Sure.” Though Steve doesn’t want to leave Tony, it’s the best solution. He’s the only one that knows the important files. “I’m going to leave for a little bit, Tony.” He touches his face, hoping that Tony’s focusing on him. “Pietro is here to keep you company.”

As he tries to release him, Tony makes a horribly wrecked noise and shivers. Steve hushes him and then waits until he can leave without Tony getting too upset. As Steve stands, he says to Pietro, “Often people who’ve had seizures need to sleep for several hours. Let him. I’ll be back soon.”

Pietro smiles, the light from the windows glinting off his unnaturally white hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

Steve nods and then heads back to the laboratory, his mind a jumble of self-inflicted accusations. He forces himself to plan, to strategize what he needs to make things right instead of allowing his brain to loop around to everything that must have gone wrong. Once in the lab, he collects the other laptops, the external hard drives that Tony backed everything up on. The notes that Steve insisted on writing in real notebooks. He shoves everything into his large art portfolio. He looks up at his own computer, his drawings, his comic book that he’s been working on so diligently. There’s no room in the bag. He’ll come back. It’s too important to have the data – his art can wait.

Stashing everything he needs in the bag, Steve races back up the stairs and up the second flight to Tony’s room. When he gets there, Tony is in the bed and a little more aware. He lists to the side and for a terrifying moment Steve thinks he must have had a stroke until Pietro comes out of the bathroom and says, “He’s so tired but he won’t go to sleep without you.”

Steve drops the bag to the side and settles on the bed. He touches Tony’s shoulder. “Tony? I’m right here. How are you feeling? I won’t leave again.”

“Tired.” Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s talking. Thank God. 

“Do you want to sleep? I’ll be right here. I’m not leaving again.” 

Tony nods and then falls over in the bed, instantly asleep. 

Pietro walks over to the bed and says, “He’s been fighting it the entire time.”

“Did he walk to the bed or did you carry him?” Steve asks. 

Pietro scoffs. “Oh maybe you could carry him, but not me, sir. No, Mister Stark walked, but I did lead him.”

“Well, that’s good at least.” Steve stays in place next to Tony on the bed. Tony doesn’t sleep restfully but fitfully and Steve worries that the implant has caused hidden damage. Pietro excuses himself, and Steve gives him a half smile as he leaves. Staring out the large windows Steve sees the thick dark clouds coming in across the ocean. From Tony’s windows the whole oceanscape can be seen. It’s beautiful and Steve wonders if he’s ever seen whales from his window. From where Steve sits, he can see the small hilltop that they sat on and watched the sunrise over the house. It was a beautiful moment, but now it’s distant and gray. He hears the copter blades before he sees it. How Pepper called on a helicopter so fast he doesn’t have a clue, but as soon as the helicopter lands the house goes into full action mode like there’s an alert, and there is, of course.

The medics come in and immediately report to Steve. They are Stark Industries’ employees and have non-disclosure agreements. Under Pepper’s instruction, they will transport Tony along with Steve to the mainland and transfer them over the a medically fitted jet that will wait on the tarmac for Doctor Strange to arrive. Once he has arrived then they will fly back to New York. 

“Why do we have to wait for Strange? Shouldn’t we just go directly to New York?” 

“Doctor Strange wants to make sure that Mister Stark is stable and can endure the flight,” the medic says. 

Steve gets out of the way then and, as the medics work, Tony wakes up. He’s confused and disoriented. Steve goes to his side and tries to calm him down as Tony protests being taken from the cabin. The medic that spoke with Steve shoots him a glance as if to ask for help when Tony refuses to leave the bed or the premises. Steve waves his hand and goes to Tony’s side. 

“Tony, you have to go. If you have another seizure it could do real damage. As of right now, we don’t know if there is any damage-.”

Tony cuts him off. “No. There’s no damage. I have very little time and I need to get to work.”

Steve eyes the impatient medics. “I packed up everything you need. You can finish your work in New York. This is just a precaution.”

“Then bring Strange here,” Tony says and taps his fingers on his thigh. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

Steve bows his head and pinches his nose. He sighs and then looks at Tony. “You know how that sounds, right? No. You have to go. They need to run tests.”

Tony chews on his lower lip for a second and then asks, “You have everything? Both laptops? The external hard drives, the data?”

“Even my hardcopy notes,” Steve assures. “Please Tony. The quicker you get this done the better.” It seems to trigger Tony and he nods. “Okay then, the medics can proceed.” He gets out of the way. 

Tony insists on walking down to the helicopter. The medics glare at him, but it’s not going to stop him. They lift the empty gurney and carry it down the stairs as Tony follows them. Steve brings up the rear with the bag slung over his shoulders. Tony has the good sense not to say anything more. He has his walking cane and taps out the stairs until he gets to the door that leads the way to where the helicopter landed at the rear of the house where the deliveries from the docks are usually off loaded from the small trucks that are housed in the garage. The helicopter barely fits and the blades as sluicing through the air with a chopping beat. Tony takes him by the arm, but Steve’s not comfortable with it. 

Over the beat of the helicopter and the roar of the engine, Steve says, “I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders and lead you to the helicopter. I think it’s safer that way.”

Tony shakes his head. “I forgot the glasses.”

Steve glances back and Vision holds up the bag. “Packed.”

“Thanks, Vision.” Steve reaches back. Vision waves him off. 

“I’ll carry it.”

Steve nods and then addresses Tony again. “Are you ready?” With a curt nod, Tony agrees. Steve presses forward and they go down the steps as he narrates the path. He bends Tony downward as they go under the helicopter’s blades and the wind whips around them. It’s raining out now, the storm’s finally hit the island. He hopes the ride won’t be too choppy. 

Once inside the helicopter the medics insist on taking Tony’s vitals. It isn’t easy to get Tony to agree, he’s agitated and short tempered. As the helicopter takes off, Steve’s worry ratchets up. When he quizzes Tony, he only gets short clipped answers. It’s no use trying to find out if he has a headache, if he feels any aftereffects of the seizures. The medics are barely able to take his pulse and his blood pressure. 

As the helicopter makes its way to the mainland, Steve convinces Tony to rest. His face is drawn, and dark circles bruise his eyes. Steve shares a concerned look with the medics but neither of them comment. Tony doesn’t sleep but he’s not fidgety and full of kinetic energy like he normally is. Steve’s not sure to take it as a good sign or bad. 

When the helicopter lands at the airstrip, there’s a private jet on the tarmac waiting for them. Steve can’t seem to figure out how Pepper mobilized all of this so quickly, but he’s thankful for it, nonetheless. They transfer over to the private jet with little objections from Tony. Although he says nothing, Tony seethes – Steve can tell. Tony ignores the medics and goes to the back of the jet where there’s a private room. He closes the doors. The medics look to Steve for assistance. 

Steve exhales and then tells the medics he’ll see what he can do. At the cabin door, he knocks and calls, “Tony?”

“It’s locked.”

“Yes, I know. Can you let me in?”

Silence answers him. He waits at the door, leaning against it as the pilot and co-pilot along with a flight attendant board the plane. All they have to do is hang out for the arrival of Doctor Strange. Steve hears the click of the lock, and the door opens. 

“You can come in. No one else.”

Steve slips in and Tony locks the door after him. The room isn’t spacious, but it has a double bed, a small table by the bed and opposite the bed is a flat screen television. Across the cabin Steve spots a door that opens to a cramped bathroom. 

“This must be your jet.”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Tony sits on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slump.

“You didn’t need to use your cane. You just walked right to the cabin and locked the door.” Steve doesn’t move any further into the room.

“Yeah.” Tony rubs at his eyes. “Do you know sometimes I see after images. I’m not sure what they are of. Can’t tell if they’re real or my mind is playing tricks on me. When it first happened, I thought it meant something. It doesn’t at all.”

Steve grimaces. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry this happened. We just have to analyze the data.”

“There won’t be anymore data. I’m going to take the glasses and the implant and revert it back to the last version. It’s the only way to get through the gala.” Tony throws himself back onto the bed. “I’m going to spend the new few days being poked and prodded by Strange. Pepper’s going to mother hen me to death, and I don’t even want to think about what Rhodey is going to do to me.”

Steve considers Tony and the thought of hitting him upside the head boils to the top of the option. “Tony, can you just stop for one minute. You had a major seizure. When you came out of it, you couldn’t talk or anything. You weren’t yourself. Pietro had to help you to the bed.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is. This isn’t something you should play around with Tony. Seizures can sometimes lead to brain damage-.”

Tony bolts up out of the bed and stands close to Steve. He’s facing slightly to the left of him. “Don’t you think I know that. Don’t you think I get it? When this first happened to me, I wasn’t a stranger to migraines, seizures, whatever the hell. I had a serious traumatic brain injury. Geez thanks dad!” Tony spins on his heel and steps away from Steve. “Every day I lived with the thought my brain would be taken away from me along with my sight. Every day. I was terrified. This-.” Tony gestures. “This is nothing.”

“Well, to me it’s something,” Steve says. “I’m worried, Tony. I don’t want you hurt.” 

The irritation in Tony’s tone softens. “I’m fine.”

“I want you to be fine, but I don’t think you are. Not yet.” Steve tentatively cups a hand over his shoulder. Tony tenses, but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Tony bows his head and moves away, dropping back onto the bed. “I appreciate the sentiment, Steve. I really do. I think your earnest about it. But this isn’t a walk in the park. It’s not going to be fun. Pepper and Rhodey are going into full protection mode as we speak. Just getting them to calm down and listen to me is going to take a damned army.”

“Well, I was in the army, so I think I can handle it.”

Tony sighs, large and slow, as if his whole body needs release. “I wish.” He stops and closes his eyes. Steve’s not sure if he glimpses a tear leaking from the corners. “I think I want to rest. Sleep for a while. Okay?”

Steve nods, then remembers himself. “Okay. I’ll be in the main cabin if you need anything.”

Tony waves to him and then drops onto the bed as Steve slips out of the sleeping cabin. He feels at loose ends, but he goes to one of the large overstuffed chairs and sits. It will be hours before Doctor Strange arrives. The medics are circling like vultures, but Steve convinces them that Tony needs his sleep more than their intervention just to monitor him. They loiter near the sleeping cabin but don’t enter it. Steve decides after a half hour that he’s going to have to make an excuse to stay with Tony, so they don’t barge in on him. 

“Why don’t I check on him? If he needs you, then I’ll call,” Steve says and passes them without checking to see if they agree with his strategy. He knocks but Tony doesn’t answer, he tries the knob, and the door opens. Tony sprawls on the bed, his mouth slightly open. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly. It must have been a bad seizure considering how much he’s sleeping. The thought grips his heart with claws of terror. Yet, he looks peaceful, quiet, the rigidity of his features has disappeared. The stress melts away in slumber. 

Steve opens the door a crack and whispers to the medics, “He’s sleeping. If there’s a change, I’ll get you.” He doesn’t wait for their reply. Instead, he shuts the door and relaxes on a small chair next to the bed. The seat is fit for an elementary school child, but Steve twists his body and leans into it. Nothing is going to stop him from watching over Tony. 

By the time Strange arrives, Steve’s abandoned the chair for the floor. Tony’s sleep has been restless, but he hasn’t roused for more than a few seconds at a time. Strange asks Steve to leave the cabin and Steve can hear him waken Tony as he closes the door. When Strange joins Steve and the medics in the main cabin, he announces that Tony’s fit to fly and they can take off. 

“So, he is all right,” Steve says. The tension drains from his back and neck.

“I didn’t say that,” Strange replies and nods to the flight attendant that appears at the door to the cockpit. “We’re ready when you are.”

“So that’s it,” Steve says. “You come, check him over with a stethoscope or whatever, and suddenly we’re on our way back to New York? That’s it?”

Strange considers the medics and they bow out, leaving from the front of the plane. “You’re Mister Stark’s personal assistant, correct.”

“Yes, Steve Rogers.”

“Well, Mister Rogers, because of the ruse Mister Stark has insisted on continuing for all of these years and has forced many of us to sign documents in order to give him care, I am not allowed to bring him to a local hospital. I need to fly him to New York where he maintains and pays for the clinic where we first met.” He presses down on his too ornate jacket. “You may say I’m a sell out that I signed the non-disclosure and agreed to this ridiculous farce for money. You would only be half right. I use the money to maintain my clinic that offers state of the art care at a fraction of the price of other hospitals and clinics. With the state of health care in this country, it is the least I can do.”

“That’s very generous of you, and I’m not here to judge you. I just want to make sure that Tony is getting the best care,” Steve says. The weight of everything that’s happened crushes him. It feels like a mixture of an anxiety attack and his asthma attacks. His pushes his hand in his pocket for his inhaler and realizes it’s probably still back at the island. 

“I assure you; Tony is in no immediate danger. I’ve started him on an anti-seizure medication and he’s resting. It’s what he needs right now.” Even though Strange sounds incredibly pompous and arrogant, Steve believes him. 

“That’s good to know. Thank you, Doctor,” Steve says and finds a seat. “I think we need to strap in now.” 

During the flight, Strange pulls out a deck of cards. It surprises Steve that Strange would invite him to play a card game. They go through several rounds of gin rummy, but then Strange decides that games aren’t what he’s interested in. When he starts the magic tricks with the cards, Steve understands his real motive for the deck. He’s a master of illusion and Steve as well as the medics are amazed at the tricks. Tony ambles out of the sleeping cabin, his face haggard and his expression downcast. He ends up sitting next to Steve, watching but not really processing. Steve’s about to question Strange about it, but he quietly acknowledges it and whispers about the side effects of the medications.

“It will pass,” Strange assures and then continues with the card tricks. 

Steve’s jittery the rest of the flight as he observes Tony. A shell, that all Steve can think. Tony’s a shell of himself. There’s no light in his eyes, he’s practically comatose but still moving around. He drinks when Steve offers him some orange juice. He chews methodically when Steve offers him some crackers, but he stays completely emotionless, flat, uncaring with no energy. It terrifies Steve. This isn’t Tony. This isn’t how he would want to live. 

Steve helps Tony buckle in when they land since Tony’s once talented deft hands cannot even manage the seatbelt. Part of Steve wants to mourn, but he tells himself it’s just a momentary thing. It will pass. This isn’t what Tony’s condemned to for the rest of his life. 

Once they land everything becomes a whirlwind of activity. Pepper and Happy, along with an ambulance, greets them on the tarmac. There’s not a lot Steve’s allowed to do, he’s almost pushed aside as the professionals and Pepper take over. Steve watches from the sidelines in a kind of horrified miasma. Tony keeps searching for something, and Pepper only leads him away from the jet, makes him get on the gurney. Tony’s troubled and his eyes glisten with tears. Pepper shoots Steve a glare and he can’t parse why or what the issue is, so he runs up to help and she stands in his way.

“Haven’t you done enough?” 

Stunned, Steve stands back. He watches as the ambulance is loaded and Tony fights on the gurney. It’s the first flush of emotion that Steve’s witnessed from Tony since the doctor gave him the medication. It gives him a touch of hope. Strange heads to the ambulance to ride to his clinic while Pepper and Happy go to a car parked on the tarmac. Happy waves for Steve to tag along and directs him to sit in front with him. Steve does, but he’s on pins and needles after Pepper’s accusation. 

It’s a long ride to the clinic and Steve’s anxious. Pepper’s presence in the back seat just serves to stress him more. When he tries to address the issue, Happy braces his hand and shakes his head. He mouths ‘not now’, and Steve shuts up. They arrive at the clinic and Tony’s ushered away before Steve can even get a glimpse of him. He follows Happy with Tony’s bag slung over his shoulder. He climbs the stairs not really seeing all of the medieval artwork and historical medical devices. He remembers them from the last time they were here. It all looked so horrific. He keeps his eyes down and follows the shuffle of Happy’s feet nearly bumping into him when they stop in a large salon with chairs that look like they are right out of the European Renaissance. He wants to ask where Tony is, but then a door opens, and Pepper joins them in the waiting room. She sees him and her expression hardens. Before she can say anything, a man in an Air Force uniform rushes into the room.

“Sorry, took some time to pull the right strings. How is he?” 

Pepper glances Steve’s way and then at the newcomer. “Glad you made it, James.”

“What the situation?” Rhodes asks after they shake hands. 

Before Steve can answer, Pepper pipes in and brings Rhodes over to a corner for a private conversation. Steve glances at Happy and mutters, “Why do I feel like I’m getting sacked?” He wants to plead that Tony’s seizure isn’t his fault, but he doesn’t think his arguments will be taken into account. As Tony’s assistant maybe he is responsible, maybe it was up to him to stop Tony from the upgrade. 

Pepper and Rhodes break their conversation and rejoin them. Pepper nods to Happy. “Can you give us a minute?”

Happy excuses himself and then Steve’s left alone with Pepper and Rhodes. He licks his lips and waits. Everything seems to quiet in the eerily decorated room. It really does look like a salon from medieval days. He clears his throat and asks, “What’s this about?” He can’t stand the pressure of waiting any longer.

Pepper grimaces and then says, “We’ve discussed it, Captain Rogers, and we believe it would be for the best if you were to leave Tony’s employment immediately.”

“May I ask why?” Steve glances between them. Rhodes’ face is severe but then again, Steve’s not used to his expressions, reading him clearly is not possible. Pepper on the other hand is an open book. 

“You’re his personal assistant, Steve. We hired you so something like this would be prevented, stopped. Your main task was to keep him safe.” 

“That’s not what the contract said,” Steve replies. “I’d like to talk to Tony.” He tries to get through them, but Rhodes places a hand on Steve’s chest and halts him. Glancing down at his hand, Steve says, “Please remove your hand.”

“I don’t want this to come to blows,” Rhodes says and drops his hand. “But Stark Industries is officially your employer, not Tony. Ms. Potts is the CEO; she is within her rights to dismiss you.”

“Dismiss me for what? For Tony having a seizure. Not even Doctor Strange could have prevented that!” Steve says. 

Through clenched teeth, Peppers says, “I’ll remind you to keep your voice down.”

Steve inhales and exhales and then says, “I’m sorry.” He pauses and then continues, “Tony is important to me as well. I don’t want any harm to come to him. Believe me when I tell you that I am upset about what happened. But his enthusiasm-.”

“That’s just it,” Pepper says. “His excitement and enthusiasm is going to get him hurt or worse. He can’t be allowed-.”

“Wait, wait a minute. Tony’s a grown man with his own ideas and own life you can’t-.” The anger suffuses through him. Suddenly he gets all the crap that Tony’s put up with since the accident. “Tony can make decisions for himself. If he wants this, then he can decide.”

“You don’t understand Tony. You don’t get how he’ll take risks that are dangerous just for science. You’ve only known him for two months; I’ve known him for years.” Her anger heats her face to bright red. “I love Tony. He’s more to me than the owner of a business I run for him. He’s my family.”

Steve mutes his words, words and emotions he has no right to say or feel. Pepper’s right. He’s only known Tony for two months, but it’s been two very enlightening months. “I know your heart is in the right place, but Tony – Tony needs to make these decisions for himself. He needs to be respected. He’s not a child.”

That’s it. He’s completely blown it. “What the hell?” Pepper glowers at him and then turns to Rhodes. “Perhaps you can get rid of him. I’m not going to talk to someone who says ‘my heart is in the right place’ and I treat Tony like a child. Get him out of here.” She marches off, her heels clicking on the hard wood floors. 

Left alone with Rhodes, Steve tries again. “I hope you understand, Colonel.”

Rhodes put his hand up to stop Steve. “She’s right. You don’t understand Tony. While you think he’s being a genius he’s also a detriment to himself. He doesn’t understand danger. He plays with it. Hell, if the fate of the world rested in his hands and all he had to do was snap his fingers and die, he would do it. It takes the people who love him like family to stop him. So, I agree with Pepper. It might seem cruel and it might look like we’re treating him like a child, but I assure you, there’s nothing farther from the truth.”

“Will Tony see it that way?” Steve asks and then silence falls between them. How the silence echoes in the room, Steve will never know but it feels like the pressure in an aircraft deafening and empty. 

Rhodes frowns and then shuffles on his feet. “I think you better leave, Steve. It’s for the best.”

Steve closes his eyes and sighs. He drops Tony’s bag on the chair and then remembers his stuff, his inhaler, his clothes, his comic book stretches, everything is still on the island. “I have some stuff.”

“We’ll get it to you,” Rhodes says. “I’ll have your last paycheck sent to the address on file.”

Steve bites back the words – the denials, the pleading – and then looks to the door where they took Tony. “Can I see him?”

“No. I don’t think that would be wise.”

Steve nods. He swallows down the bile, the panic, the tears. “Okay then. Goodbye. Tell Tony I wish him well.”

Without further word, Steve departs.


	11. Chapter 11

Most people who take anti-seizure medication have to put up with headaches, dizziness, maybe some vomiting, but Tony deals with fogged memory and lack of motivation. He hates the meds and as soon as he’s able to he refuses to take another dose. Strange isn’t surprised and he acquiesces while Pepper bursts from the stress and demands that Tony consider his health and well-being for once. It’s Tony’s fault that she teeters on the edge of anger and frustration, he’s never been easy to manage. One of the few nuggets his father always said to him was a good employee knew how to manage the manager. Pepper does a good job with Tony, most of the time. But he needs to put his foot down. This is his life and he doesn’t want to spend it doped to the gills.

“We have other options,” Strange says and Pepper quiets. 

It’s bad enough that when Tony woke up from another drug induced nap he panicked from not knowing where the hell he was. Two things terrify him as a blind man. One was not knowing where the hell he was, the other was the idea of losing his mental capacity and being vulnerable to the outside world. In some ways he feels like the world within his brain is the place he lives while the world he cannot see is beyond him, like a nebula in outer space. Waking up and not knowing where he was and feeling groggy on top of it sent him into a tailspin. Now, as he sits in the clinic – in a damned hospital bed as if he’s infirmed – Strange, Pepper, and Rhodey discuss his case as if he’s not even in the room.

“Do we have any idea how long the seizure was? How severe?” Pepper asks. He can hear the mania in her voice. The whole situation has brought out the worse mother hen imaginable – the one riddled with anxiety. “Have you ordered any imaging studies? When can they happen? Shouldn’t he be resting?”

Strange huffs in little grunts – Tony easily recognizes them. The arrogant doctor has a habit of puffing out groans and grunts when he’s taxed by his patients or their family members. “I assure you that Tony is not in any danger. We will run imaging tests, but I suspect that problem will be the implant.”

“The upgrade, you mean,” Tony chimes in. He hates it when they talk about him like he’s not in the room, he exponentially hates it when they make assumptions about his work without consulting him at all. “It’s the upgrade. The previous program only caused migraines. The upgrade probably initiated a catastrophic failure of the implant systems and therefore led to electrical discharge that ended with a seizure. Easy peasy.” 

“Easy peasy?” Pepper yelps.

“Catastrophic? Tony, really, that’s not good at all,” Rhodey comments and there’s that disappointment laced in his voice. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s easy enough to fix. Just give me a few days and find Steve, because I’m going to need him. I’ll revert back to the previous version for the programming. It should work well enough for the gala, then after that we can get right down to it.”

“Get right down to it,” Rhodey scoffs and Tony can imagine him throwing up his hands in exasperation. 

“Don’t be so exasperated, Rhodey. This is me. I can do this,” Tony says and starts to get out of bed, but a firm, lanky hand pushes him back.

“You will stay put,” Strange says and that lanky hand is stronger than Tony would have guessed. He forces Tony to stop struggling. “We need to run tests. Ms. Potts is correct; we cannot truly assess your current status without some imaging tests.”

“It’s not going to change anything I already said,” Tony replies and then adds, “So, if you all don’t mind, I need to speak to Steve. Where is he?”

A shuffling of shoes on the floor and then Pepper is touching his hand as Strange moves away. “Steve’s not here right now. Maybe it would be best if we took this up in the morning. You haven’t eaten and you need to rest.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tony says but his stomach aches.

“Come on Tones, we can have cheeseburgers. We’ll order in.” Rhodey sounds like he’s trying to placate Tony and part of him hates it and the other part knows that Rhodey is balancing something – trying to keep the peace. 

He needs to get to the bottom of it, so Tony lies back in the cushions of the bed and agrees, “Sure a burger sounds good.”

“And then I’ll order some tests.”

“Whatever you say, doc.” 

Rhodey and Pepper make their exit to get the food while Doctor Strange remains in the room. He doesn’t say anything and, for a moment, Tony thinks he’s trying to fool him.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing,” Tony says. He tries to get comfortable in bed and then asks, “What time of day is it? My circadian rhythm is all wonky again.”

“It’s evening, probably around 9 or so.” 

Tony’s stomach growls then just to betray him. He ignores it and says, “Thanks.”

“For going all the way to Canada and back again in one day? You’re welcome. You will be receiving a pretty hefty house call bill,” Strange returns.

“No. For not saying what you’re thinking in front of Pepper and Rhodey.” Strange may be an arrogant son of a bitch of a doctor but he respects Tony’s privacy and his autonomy. For all their hearts of gold, both Pepper and Rhodey are far too overprotective. Sometimes he feels as if they treat him more like a toddler than a grown man. 

“It’s something you have to consider soon, though, Tony. The implant has to go. You know that.” Strange moves closer to Tony. He’s not the touchy feeling kind of doctor, but he does place his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “The sooner the better.”

“Give me the gala. One more week. We can schedule something right after.” Tony swallows down the acid of bile. It hurts. He’s going to give up everything after the party. His life will shut down, his world will close, narrow, lose all focus. What will he have left? He won’t even be able to use his virtual reality headset to do his tinkering for the research and development sector of his company. He’ll be a shut in. These are the last days of his life. 

“This doesn’t have to be a funeral, you know, Stark. This isn’t the end. It could be the beginning.” 

Tony’s never known Strange to be tender. He’s one of those brilliant doctors that has the worst bedside manners but at the same time he trusts implicitly. Now, Strange shows his softer side and Tony doesn’t know if he should rail against it, or accept the kindness at face value. “I’ve been fighting this for a long time, Strange. It’s in my nature.”

Strange’s hand slips off Tony’s shoulder. “No, what’s in your nature is a survivor. You fight not only to survive but to thrive. That’s what I’ve seen over the last years that I’ve been your doctor. Don’t give up on yourself too soon. You have a very supportive network, there are ways to make this work.”

“I’d usually spit fire at you for trying to placate me, but I have a feeling you’re not doing that at all,” Tony replies. “Because it’s not in your nature.”

“No,” Strange says and Tony can almost hear the bemused smile. “It’s not. But I can tell you that it would be a shame if Tony Stark thinks that the glasses and the implant are his 1 in 14,000,000 chance. I know you, Stark, you’re here to save the world. You’re not going to let a little thing like visual impairment stop you.” 

“Stop, doc, you’re making me blush,” Tony says. He turns serious. “But really, after the implant goes, what choices do I have?”

“You could try the clinical trial I mentioned.”

“You said we need the implant to home the virotherapy to the target.” Tony’s interest is piqued, but he refuses to get his hopes up. 

“Yes, for you, I thought that might be a simple fix. But for the actual clinical trial we implanting seeds for homing, if possible. It’s not an easy task but since we would have to remove the implant, I could surgically place the seeds and then the viral package at the same time.” Strange sighs. “It’s not an easy task.” 

“But the implant isn’t close to the optical pathway.” Tony shakes his head. “You’re talking major surgery, Strange. I don’t want anyone messing with my brain.”

“Well, there is an arm of the clinical trial which really isn’t a phase 2. It’s more of a phase 1, looking at safety, but it will be using nanites to home.”

Now, Tony’s sitting up straighter. “Nanites.” This is his kind of territory, he understands nanotechnology. 

“Yes, we have a small arm looking at nanites that are programmed specifically for the patient to deliver the targeting molecule wherever we want. It’s not perfected by any means and it could lead to some harrowing side effects, but we’ve had good progress and results in animal models.”

“So, the nanites home to my optical pathway and then the virotherapy knows where to go. Why not just use the nanites to do the whole shebang?” 

Strange says, “We’ve tried. Even with spinal cord delivery, we’re unable to ensure an efficacious dose of the growth factors. The viral therapy we can do several doses with different packages for delivery. The nanites cause too much immune response. Even mitigating the dosage for immune tolerance hasn’t worked efficiently.”

“I’d want to see the data.” He can’t believe he would consider something as risky and hairbrained as this idea. “All of the data.”

“I will see what I can do.” Strange doesn’t leave just then, but instead adds, “This isn’t the end, Tony. It can be the beginning.”

“That’s what sighted people say when they don’t have anything else to offer,” Tony responds and then adds, “Do you know where Steve is? My personal assistant? Pepper said he left.”

“I’m not sure. He came with us. I’ll check. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“My phone and if you have a few books in braille?” Tony says.

“I will see what we have.”

Tony tries not to be devastated. It’s hard to not fall into the pit that has swirled around him, threatening for years. He built walls, fortified them to contain the terror. The walls deny the reality, he knows that – he’s a genius after all. But the truth is that he needed those walls, those bricks to deny the unbelievers. How else could he rally his damaged soul to continue? For Fuck’s sake, he was only 17 at the time. Broken, alone, orphaned. What the hell else could he do. On top of that his father figure, Stane, tried to steal his company out from under him while he suffered from a traumatic brain injury. 

One thing that Tony’s learned over the years is that there are very few people he can trust. Rhodey and Pepper are two of the people he trusts the most, but at the same time two of the people who try and shield him from his own vulnerabilities and the outside world. While he takes it as a sign that they both love him and want nothing horrible to befall him, it frustrates him to no end because sometimes, he feels like they are plotting behind his back. He’s not insulted by it at all; their actions are those of people who love him and fear for him. Truly, he’s surprised that Pepper even let him get a new personal assistant. If she could have, she would have doubled up as his assistant and the CEO of the company. But that wasn’t going to work at all. 

He frowns. Where is Steve? How is he supposed to sit here in the clinic without his personal assistant? Just then Tony hears the door creak open, and he says, “Steve?”

“Nope, just me, Wong.” Doctor Wong comes to the side of Tony’s bed. “I brought some of the better braille books I have in hand and your phone. Stephen wanted me to discuss some of the specifics of the clinical trial.”

“Steve did?”

Wong clears his throat as he places the pile of books on Tony’s lap and the phone near Tony’s hand. “No. Stephen as in Stephen Strange.”

“Oh yeah, sure. You know about the nanites? I’d like to know a little more about their constructions, angstroms, programming, targeting agents. The whole nine yards.” 

Wong stifles and huffs a little. “Well, I know nothing about nine yards but I can tell you quite a bit about the nanotech we are working with. Have you ever heard of Hank Pym?” 

Tony shakes his head. He’s actually heard of Hank Pym and his wife, Jan. Jan ran in the same circles Tony did growing up. She was a renowned fashion designer with a head for advanced technology. It didn’t surprise him when they hooked up and started the tech company. Sure, she still dabbled in fashion design and her creations wowed Paris every few years, but her heart seemed to be tethered to high technology advancements. 

Wong launches into a historical brief about Pym and his nanotechnology that he calls Pym particles – the arrogant son of a bitch (Wong’s words not Tony’s). Apparently, Pym uses computer learning with the nanotech pym particles to teach them to appropriately identify the correct target. The particles are too small to load the package and too many cause an immune attack as Strange informed Tony. The possibilities and the potential are mind blowing. Surprisingly, Wong is able to impart all of the details verbally with only a few braille aids that happened to be sitting in Tony’s lap. 

Wong exhausts his explanations of the Pym particles along with the virotherapy when Tony chimes in to comment, “The particles aren’t smart enough, are they?”

Wong exhales, loudly and irritably. “This is true. The computer algorithm that should teach them isn’t as sophisticated as we would like. Hank is resistant to change it. He’s had good successes outside of the biomedical arena so he’s focusing there.”

“You need an AI. Artificial Intelligence. It should be fairly simple to use the AI to run the computer based learning for the particles and have the AI change it up. I could write you a program, probably in an afternoon.” He stops. “But I think we have to get lawyers involved. It’s Pym’s IP and my AI designs.”

“He’s very resistant. He always has to do everything his way.” Wong sounds affronted.

“How about I invite him to the gala with his wife. Jan knows me. We could talk then; I might be able to convince him.” It would take some finagling to get Hank and Jan to come to the gala if Pepper hasn’t already invited them. Routinely, Tony doesn’t hang in their circles – not much anyhow -, but they are part of the same upper crust set. He needs to get to Pepper and have her invite them asap.

“If you can convince him, then that would do a lot for the advancement of the study,” Wong says. 

Tony pats his phone. “I’ll get right on it. Also, have you seen Steve Rogers? My assistant? He came with me from Canada and I need him.”

“I haven’t, but I will check. Either I or Strange will be back to check on you-.”

“By the way, how long am I stuck here?” Tony asks. He’s feeling more and more like himself; the seizure is a distant memory. 

“Strange would like to have you overnight. Just for observation-.”

Tony puts up his hand to stop Wong. “Let’s remember I don’t want anyone not vetted and under a non-disclosure agreement in this room.”

“It’s only me, Strange, and your medics. That’s all. Plus, your staff,” Wong agrees. His feet whisper across the floor as he leaves. 

Tony’s staff. Steve is part of his staff. He picks up his phone and hits the home button. “Friday?”

“Yes, boss?”

“I need an update. Can you text Pepper for me? I need to know where Steve is. I am going to need him to help with the downgrade for the implant.” 

Friday responds, “Ready when you are, boss.”

“Text to Pepper: hey Pep can you find Steve for me and send him my way?” He thinks about it. “Friday also – text to Steve: Steve, can you drop by the clinic we have some things to sort out.”

“Done on both accounts, boss.” 

Tony yawns. He cannot believe how much the seizure and the stupid meds took out of him. He still hasn’t eaten, and he has no appetite. He itches to have his glasses, to have Steve here, something to get work done, but at the same time the fatigue drains his drive to work. It’s a strange dichotomy that he had gotten used to after the traumatic brain injury but hasn’t had to deal with in many years. 

Friday breaks his train of thought. “I have a reply from Steve Rogers.”

“Read it.”

“Steve: I left your bag with the glasses and computer with all of the data with Pepper and Rhodes. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you please have my stuff sent to my address in Brooklyn?”

“What?” Tony tilts his head. He heard that wrong. “Repeat Friday.” Friday repeats the text exactly as stated. It makes no sense. Steve should have his stuff sent to the Tower, where he currently lives. Unless – unless the whole seizure thing scared the shit out of him, and he went running. He’d thought better of Steve, but then again Pepper’s right he’s only known Steve for two months. “But the bike ride and the-.” He stops short of saying kiss. 

“Boss, do you want me to text Steve -.”

“No. No.” He rubs at his forehead. The strange gray shadows flitter around his visual field. Like phantoms of his life, they taunt him. He’d thought Steve was something special. Obviously, he is wrong. Very wrong. “Tell him that we’ll get his stuff as soon as possible. Leave it at that. I don’t want to hear from him again. Block his number.”

Doing without a personal assistant is going to be nearly impossible. It will further isolate him, make it difficult to get any work done, to find a solution to the problem of the glasses. He needs to reach out and find someone else as soon as possible.

Friday announces that Pepper has responded. “Steve left. We don’t know where he went. It’s for the best, Tony.”

He thinks about the message. The words spin about in his head. Even though Friday said the words he can hear them in Pepper’s voice, sad, small. She hates to break bad news to him. Lying his head back on the cushions, he says, “Friday text to Pepper: why?”

“That it, boss?”

“Yes.”

“Done.” It only takes a few minutes for Friday to add, “Pepper texts: It’s for the best, Tony. His head isn’t in the right place. James agrees.”

If both Pepper and Rhodey think Steve is a liability for Tony, then it must be true. He would trust them with his life. Yet his circle of people he trusts constricts and narrows. He thinks about the kiss he shared with Steve under the stars. He hadn’t led Steve on – in fact, Tony had decided after things didn’t really work out with Pepper that he wouldn’t seek a relationship. Relationships are too hard for someone in his position. A rich, blind man he’s just asking for someone to scam him. The idea that Steve had scammed him haunts the memory, though. He specifically recalls saying to Steve that he hadn’t been flirty or tried anything – yet there they were, kissing on the hilltop under the stars. All of it had been a scam, but for what end?

Steve hadn’t asked for money. Or stock. He’s an artist. He works on comic books. Why would he mark Tony as someone to con. Then Tony remembers that Steve had been down to his last few bucks when he hired him. It all made sense now. Tony had been an easy mark, but then again, he’d trusted Steve with his most important secret. 

“Shit. Friday, unblock Steve’s number. Send text: you are still under the non-disclosure agreement. Breach of the NDA will lead to prosecution.”

Friday doesn’t respond immediately, almost as if the AI hesitates but then states, “Done, boss.”

It’s over an hour later when Tony’s randomly reading one of the books that Wong brought – it’s a boring period book – when Friday announces, “Incoming text from Steve.”

“Read it.” His heart pounds heavy in his ears. Tony can’t expect anything. Not now, but he can’t get his heart to understand the facts. 

“Steve texts: Don’t worry. I’m not a dick.”

Tony smirks. “Language, Rogers.” Maybe he should just call Steve, find out what the problem is. Why he up and left. The last he talked to him, he was comfortable and concerned. It seems out of character for Steve to leave behind his responsibilities. He’d been conscientious and trustworthy during the short time he held the position of Tony’s assistant. 

But then Pepper’s text comes back to him: _It’s for the best, Tony. His head isn’t in the right place. James agrees._

Rhodey backed Pepper’s assessment. There’s no question, but then Pepper overcompensates. She’s always afraid for him, always wanting him to take the safe road. He swears if he was a soldier or a superhero she would want him to sit on his hands and let the bad guys win just to protect himself. Yet, the idea that Rhodey went along with her means something. It has to. He has to trust someone. Who does he trust the most? He winces.

“Friday, put me through to Jarvis.”

“On it.”

The phone rings and it takes a few rings before Jarvis answers. Tony forgot how late it is. After Jarvis greets him, Tony apologizes, “Sorry Jarvis, I forgot what time it is.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting, sir?”

Tony grimaces. He hates when Jarvis pulls out the sir. It means he knows Tony’s not paying attention to saner minds. “I will. I will. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“I need your opinion about Steve. I think- I think he left for some reason and I can’t figure out why,” Tony says.

“Have you asked him?” 

Of course, the easiest way out is the one way that Tony can’t bear to handle. It means confrontation and that face off might expose truths that Tony just might not be able to handle at the moment. “Not yet. I need your opinion first.”

“Well,” Jarvis replies and pauses. Tony imagines the slight tap of his feet on the floor as he sits and sips his nighttime cup of tea with his wife by his side. “When I first met Captain Rogers, I had my doubts. I knew he was an artist which greatly intrigued me, but I also knew from information Ms. Potts shared that he was not successful as in – he lived in a garret apartment, owed little, and did not have a regular job. In fact, most of his work was free-lance.”

“Yes. But what do you think about him?” 

“I’m laying the groundwork, Anthony, please don’t interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“I must admit, I did not treat him kindly at first. I was short with him. I may have threatened him a time or two.” This surprises Tony and he smiles at the ridiculousness of his old butler intimidating a big American hero soldier type. Jarvis’ voice softens, “But then I saw how dedicated he was. How he tried to understand your situation, how he listened to you and learned. He spent hours watching information on the internet about visually impaired people and how to assist them. He spent hours when you were either in your workshop or sleeping studying so he could help you with your work.”

“He did, huh?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why do you think he left?” Tony asks.

“I don’t know, Anthony. People have lots of motives for what they do. I don’t think that Captain Rogers would have done it maliciously. Perhaps he felt guilt, or he felt that he couldn’t fill the role adequately.”

“It all just seems so sudden,” Tony says. His head pounds. He needs to sleep, or tomorrow is going to be hellish. “I gotta go. Thanks, J.”

“Goodnight Anthony. I hope you feel better. I will have everything ready for your return in the morning.”

“I hope so, Jarvis.” He disconnects and then decides not to call Steve. He had his reasons for leaving. Perhaps he did feel inadequate like Jarvis said. He wasn’t. He was strong and handsome, and his hands were like links to the universe to Tony. He would miss those hands. He would miss a lot. 

Strange releases Tony the next day with strict orders that he’s not permitted to use the glasses or tap into the implant unless he’s able to revert to the previous software version. Wong and Strange promise to attend the gala so that they can gang up on Hank Pym and see if Tony can get his hands on the code for the nanotechnology he’s developing. Tony ropes Rhodey into taking some leave and helping him with the downgrades as he’s been referring to it with the implant and the glasses. Rhodey never complains, though he’s unusually quiet when Tony talks about Steve.

“You know he was a good guy. He sat there and went over code, line by line for me. Checking it and rechecking it. I know he did it right. I made him review things so many times and read it out to me even when I could have had the computer do it for me. I just don’t get why he suddenly -.” Tony stops. “Are you going to say anything at all today? Are you even here at all?” He’s been talking non-stop about Steve for the last 15 minutes and Rhodey – fuck – hasn’t even breathed. 

“Sorry. I just don’t know the guy to say anything at all,” Rhodey says. “Outsides of that party, I never really talked to him. I mean I talked to him on the phone once and then again in person after that.”

This perks up Tony. “What’s that? You talked to him on the phone? When? Why?”

Rhodey shifts in the chair – he’s sitting next to Tony at the computer going over the code and the core programming to restore the previous version of the software to the implant and the glasses. 

“Come on, sweetcakes, spit it out.”

His friend sighs, and Tony hears the weight of the world settle on Rhodey’s shoulders. “Yeah. He called back when you were on the island. He was worried about how much you were working without sleep. He told me how excited you were, and I told him.” He stops as if he’s trying to recall the conversation. “Shit. I told him to let you go ahead. There was no stopping you once you were neck deep in inventions.”

“Truth.”

“So, he thanked me and that was it. Then I saw him at the clinic. He left straight after.” Rhodey’s voice takes on strange strained sound to it, like he’s forcing the words out. It’s almost as if he’s building fences with his words but he’s worried it might crumble around him. 

“Did he say why? I mean why would he leave.” The last Tony really talked to Steve, he’d been upset, but not at Steve. It had been about the failure of the implant and how he would have to do exactly what he’s doing now. 

Rhodey coughs and says, “I’m getting coffee. You want coffee.” He pushes the chair out and it rolls, dislodging Tony. He catches himself and sits back in his chair.

“What are you hiding Rhodey? What’s going on?”

“I think you should talk to Pepper.”

They’re almost done with the restore process when Tony finally gets his touch with his wayward CEO. He can’t blame her really, since she’s in the thick of getting everything ready for the gala that takes place in only days. He gets her to agree to come to the Tower for lunch. It’s right before he plans on implementing the restore for the implant. He requests Jarvis make something Pepper will find appealing, since right now, Tony’s had a hard time stomaching anything other than crackers or soup. It’s not the medication or even the fact he may be on the precipice of losing his sight forever, but it’s his constant questioning about Steve. His brain won’t let it go, he keeps cycling about it, worrying about it until it might just drive him insane. 

Jarvis announces Pepper’s arrival and leads her into the kitchen where Tony’s already seated at the island counter. He wants it to be informal. Pepper’s clicking heels and the light scent of her perfume are a presence like no other to him. She always reminds him of Spring, inviting like a promise. It’s a shame she’s always been allergic to strawberries because in so many ways she’s like that fruit. A Springtime delight, delicious and sweet right off the vine. 

“Tony,” she says and leans in to lightly brush her lips to his cheek. “How are you feeling? I’m so sorry I haven’t been by to check on you.” She squeezes his hand and, while others spouting those words would sound superficial at best, the warmth and tenderness in her tone shows that she’s anything but. 

“You don’t have to check on me. I got Jarvis here. I’m doing fine, aren’t I?” Tony points to Jarvis who – from the clattering of the pans – is currently finishing up their meal at the stovetop. 

“You’re doing fine, of course, sir.”

“Rolling out the sir. I must have done something wrong,” Tony says. 

“Well, there is that case of the young man-.” Jarvis stops and there’s an awkward pause in the room as Pepper clears her throat and then Jarvis fills in with quick words. “But let’s not linger on the past, shall we? I hope you will enjoy your luncheon. I’ve made a chopped Thai salad. I hope you enjoy it.”

Tony frowns. He hates it when Jarvis decides he needs to eat healthy. He doesn’t want to eat healthy. He wants to eat cheeseburgers. Tony feels for his fork and pokes at the salad. Salad is always difficult to eat as a blind person, trying to stab at the veggies in the bowl treats him to a new level of frustration. He starts at 6 o’clock and works his way from there.

Pepper reports out after she informs him that his glass of water is at 1 o’clock above his bowl. “The gala is all set. I was able to secure both Hank and Jan. It was a last minute arrangement and you will owe them big time. Hammer isn’t coming, and I know you’re happy about that one.”

“Thank god that man is a dick,” Tony says. It does mean that Hammer won’t be giving to the Maria Stark Foundation and his gift is always sizable. “Think Pym will be interested in giving?”

“If not Pym then most definitely Jan. She loves the Foundation and how they support young artists.” Pepper barrels ahead. “Plus, we have the Odinsons’ coming for the first time. They are big time tycoons in Norway. They love philanthropic causes.”

“That’s good. Great.” Tony’s stuck on _young artists_. “Speaking of which with the young artists. Do we have any that we are supporting that will be attending?” God, he wishes they were supporting Steve as an artist. 

“A few. I have the report. I can get it translated to braille,” Pepper says.

“No. No need. And what about Steve? Is he coming?” Tony wants to say has he been invited, but he’s not going to put Pepper in that position. 

“Steve?” Pepper says around a mouthful of food. “No. He’s not.”

Tony drops his fork. “Why not? He’s my plus one.”

“Tony, he’s gone. He left. I’ll be your plus one.” Pepper lays down the law like no other manager, personal assistant, CEO, and goddess that he knows. But he also recognizes that she must have played some part in Steve’s absence otherwise Rhodey wouldn’t have pointed him in her direction. 

“I don’t want you to be my plus one. Steve is my plus one.” That sounds cruel even to his ears. He grasps her hand and squeezes it. “It’s not that I don’t love you. You know that I do. But I really – I want that connection with him.”

“He was your personal assistant Tony, not your boyfriend.”

He gulps back his denial. One shared kiss does not make a relationship. “We had an agreement that he would go as my plus one.”

“He’s not your fake boyfriend either.” She flips her hand over and clasps his hand. “He’s gone, Tony.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is he gone? He gave me no indication that he wasn’t happy with the job, in fact it was the complete opposite. He was invaluable to me.” Tony waits. He hates to put Pepper on the spot. She’s been by his side for years, always taking care of everything he needs, cleaning up his messes, being there when he needed someone. 

She clears her throat and slips her hand away from him. “I fired him.”

It’s the last thing he expects and the first thing he feared. He swallows back his anger and says, “Why?”

“He didn’t do his job. His job was to protect you. You had a seizure, Tony. We could have lost you. I can’t. You’re all I have. I don’t have anyone else. You’re my family and he didn’t protect you. I asked him to protect you and he didn’t. I have to do that – I have to protect-.”

Tony grabs her by both of her shoulders. “Pepper, you take on the weight of the world. I didn’t ask you to protect me. I never did.”

“But someone has to, Tony. You’ve made this big charade for years. Who do you think follows after you and cleans up when things get messy? How many times has Christine gotten close? So many you would be surprised.” She’s crying now and he hates it. He’s put that rock, that world on her shoulders, forced her to carry it up the hill over and over again. “You need to be kept safe and Steve didn’t-.”

He gathers her in his arms and slides off the stool to hold her close. She buries her face in his shoulder. Her words are muffled as she speaks.

“We can find someone else to be the CEO. I can step back.” She chokes on the words, on her sobs. “I can be your personal assistant again. You don’t have to worry.”

It shocks him how much the stress of so many years strips Pepper bare of her usual happy and confident façade. He’d never guessed. He rails against the ableist society while pretending to be one of them. Pepper, Rhodey, Jarvis – all of them – have worked to shore up his image and ensure no one would know the truth. He never wanted to be a burden; he tried his damnedest not to be. But in fact, what he’s done is the opposite.

“Shush, we’re going to handle it. Don’t worry, Pep. I’m going to make everything better,” Tony says, though he has no idea where to begin.


	12. Chapter 12

_BUZZFEED: Today’s the day, the big Maria Stark Foundation Gala to be held at the old Stark Mansion on 5th Avenue. Anyone who’s anybody will be attending the gala. The charity event is held yearly by the Maria Stark Foundation and this year headlining the plenary session before the event will be Tony Stark. The biggest surprise is that Tony Stark actually invited his arch nemesis Christine Everhart to attend the gala. Everhart has a new streaming series that will investigate the Stark family, focusing especially on Tony Stark. Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, has repeatedly distanced the company from the series, saying that In Focus had no access to Tony Stark and is based on rumor and innuendo._

It’s Labor Day. 

The busy street below thrives with life, the honk of traffic, the drone of voices. Steve will miss it, but he tries not to brood about it too much as he tapes up another box. He doesn’t own too much, but it surprisingly takes up a lot of boxes. More than he reckoned. He’ll need to go back down to the grocer and see if he can get a few more boxes. Leaving the city hadn’t been his plan, but Bucky and Sam were right. There’s not a lot left here and he has a tidy sum in his bank account. As an artist he can work anywhere. Sure, New York City possesses one of the healthiest and strongest art communities in the world. Just look at the gala at the Maria Stark Foundation if anyone doubts that statement. Millions donated each year for young artists. It’s a dream for some, but for Steve it’s only a nightmare. Leaving the city and packing his life away in a storage container is the way to go. He’s going to stop off and see Bucky and Sam in D.C. before he leaves and then he’s going to wander on his motorcycle for a while. Just see the country. Maybe find inspiration in the landscape and the people. He needs something to pull him out of the funk. 

Both Bucky and Sam will try and convince him to stay with them for a few months, but that’s not happening. He needs to stretch his legs; he’s been hiding too long. When Peggy died, part of him withered and dissipated with her. He thought he would never love again. He holed up in an attic apartment like some Bohemian from a romance novel. It did nothing for his psyche and dug a hole in his chest deeper than getting to China. Meeting Tony changed all of that – moved him, filled him up. Instead of trudging through the days, he found himself jumping up and looking forward to what was next. The excitement of discovery and invention thrilled him. His art took on new forms and became more inspired because of it. When he’d been fired, Steve lost all of it.

He spent a few days sitting wretchedly in his attic apartment, hoping that Tony would call. But all he received was a text message warning him not to go against the NDA. With that text, it closed the door. Steve spent the next day laying on the fire escape staring into the sky waiting for – what he didn’t know. His life circled down the drain and he could have allowed it. He could have mourned the loss of all his comic sketches and his work, but he resolved to redefine himself. He gave up his lease and packed away his stuff. The moving truck would come and take everything to his storage unit. After he stored it all away – Steve intended to ride. Ride away. Who knew where? He didn’t care anymore. He had enough in his bank account, thanks to Tony, to just live for a while free of every encumberment. 

He’s halfway through wrapping his art supplies that he intends to leave with Bucky and Sam, when someone raps on his door. Steve stops and stands up straight, bashing his head on the beam. Cursing, he rubs at the bump and waits. They must have gotten the wrong apartment. The knock comes again. He places his sketchpad down that he had been debating bringing with him on his trip and weaves his way through the mess. Opening the door, he jerks at the sight of Doctor Strange.

“Hmm? Yes?”

He’s dressed in black tie and a tux. “I’ve come on an errand and I cannot believe I’ve been convinced to do a chore such as this one.” He sweeps into the apartment without invitation. His lips curl and he says, “You live here?”

“Not really. Not anymore. I’m moving,” Steve says. He’s lucky the landlord let him out of the lease. He still had two months to go, but he agreed to pay out the two months and now he’s free. 

The doctor glances at the boxes as if they offend him. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. You’re to come with me tonight to the Maria Stark Foundation Gala.”

“Hmm. No.” He frowns. “Is Tony okay? Is he sick?”

“Tony is fine. I am here on behalf of Ms. Potts.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what forces came over me to accept this minimal chore, but I am here to bring you to the gala.”

“Well, I’m sorry but I don’t think I’m welcome and I already packed all of my clothes.” He’s sure he doesn’t have the correct wardrobe for the party anyhow. 

“A tuxedo will be delivered momentarily.” As if on cue another knock on the door and the doctor goes to open it without Steve’s approval. “Ah Doctor Wong. Thank you.”

“I’m not your delivery boy, Strange,” Wong says. He’s dressed for the formal affair as well.

“And I am not a messenger boy, but here we are both indebted to Ms. Potts and Mister Stark for the many generous donations to our clinic and research institute.” Strange deadpans at Wong and they both turn to stare at Steve, expectant.

“What?” Steve says. He would sit on his ratty couch but he gave it away yesterday and all he has are boxes. “I’m not going anywhere. I wasn’t invited.”

“Foolish. Of course, you were. You’re going as my plus one.” Strange cocks at eyebrow at him.

“I don’t think I’m interested,” Steve replies. He glances between them.

Strange snickers. “Of course, if you’d rather my esteemed colleague.”

“Saying that isn’t getting you out of paying the cab fare,” Wong mutters. 

Strange waits, arms crossed, eyebrows permanently arched. 

“I don’t want to go,” Steve says, and he hates that he sounds like a petulant child. “Tony doesn’t want me there.” 

“Posh! No. Get the tux on, you’re coming along now. We don’t have much time.” 

The idea of seeing Tony again, confirming that he is all right and thriving guts his enthusiasm for riding free on the roads, disappearing into the throng of human life and nature out amongst the countryside. He bows his head and affords himself a moment to quiet his hopes. While it was Pepper who fired him, Tony had his reasons for not reaching out to Pepper. 

“I don’t understand why Ms. Potts requested that I come. She’s the one who had me fired in the first place.”

“What can I say other than I have no idea. Please we’re going to be late and the cab is waiting.” Strange taps on his wrist where a watch would be if he wore one. 

It is a chance. A chance to at least say goodbye to Tony. Silently, Steve accepts the garment bag with the tuxedo and goes to the tiny bathroom in his garret apartment. The water is – as usual – frigid but it is an unusually hot and humid day. He quickly showers and then dries off which is a tight fit in the cramped room. He slips on the Tux pants and amazes that they fit well. He leaves the bathroom and finishes dressing in the main room. It’s too stuffy in the bathroom to continue, by the time he would finish he would need another shower. 

He has his socks on and realizes he doesn’t have proper footwear. “Hmm. Did you happen to rent shoes?”

“Rent?” Strange screws up his face. “Who rented anything? We don’t have shoes. You don’t have shoes?”

“I have boots or my beat-up sneakers.” The boots are ridiculous and for riding his motorcycle with steel tips, but his sneakers are torn. Boots it is. He briefly weighs whether or not he should just ride his bike to the gala. Giving him a quick out has its merits, but then driving a motorcycle all the way to the gala negates getting dressed up. Cab it is. He sits down on a box and digs out his boots from another box. He puts them on; they don’t mess up the line of the slacks too much. 

“Ready when you are.” Strange looks him up and down with that judgmental stare and Wong only sighs. Steve only throws his hands up and says, “This is as good as it gets, fellas.”

“I worry for the future of the human race,” Strange says and then leaves the apartment. Wong grunts and follows him with Steve trailing after them. He feels a little like a lost duckling. 

When they get to the cab, Steve’s able to convince the cabbie to let him ride upfront. Maybe he has an honest face. Who knows? It’s an uncomfortable ride for Steve. He left his phone in his apartment. He can’t retreat to it to past the time. Instead, he stares out at the city he’s about to leave. Who knows when or if he’ll return to New York City? He grew up here, his mother died here. His life is gone here. Bucky is in D.C. with Sam building a life. It’s time for Steve to do the same.

When they get to the gala, held at the old Stark Mansion, Steve stands on the sidewalk as Strange pays the cabbie. Hands in pockets he watches at the media frenzy around him. He knows that Tony is supposed to have held a plenary for special guests and then the big gala will take place. According to the draft agenda that Steve had seen earlier in the summer, the plenary session on the Maria Stark Foundation and then the gala following would require Tony to wear his glasses over 6 hours – long beyond the routine he normally did. Steve assumes Tony either fixed the issue with the upgrade or restored to the previous version. 

There really couldn’t have been enough time to fix the upgrade and ensure that Tony wasn’t going to have seizure. Steve assumes that Tony had been able to restore the previous version. It means that Tony has to deal with migraines. It won’t be easy. 

The taxi pulls away and both Wong and Strange step up to join him on the sidewalk. They are about a half block from the crowded entrance. Even from their distance, Steve spots the flash of cameras. It’s lit up like it’s the middle of the day. People mob the main entrance to the mansion and large spotlight deluge the gathering with a flood of light. It occurs to him that he hasn’t paid much attention to social media in the last few weeks. Where the public stands on their assessment of Steve as Tony’s arm candy Steve doesn’t dare to hazard a guess, but he’s sure he’ll get a chance as they approach the red carpeted sidewalk area. 

Suddenly a wash of feeling helpless, lonely, and a yearning for Tony overwhelms him and he stops dead on the street. He peers over his shoulder; escape is just a turn away. Wong and Strange grip his arms and force him forward. Strange’s expression looks frustrated but also underneath Steve catches the smallest figment of concern. Not for Steve but most probably for his patient, for Tony.

Steve stays put. “What are you not telling me?”

The din of the crowd dissipates as Steve only focuses on Strange and Wong. They stand there like a pair of crows considering whether to pick his bones bare. Nothing intimidates him when he demands answers. The doctor who cared for his mother tried to dissuade him from the truth. It never works out. Not for Steve Rogers.

Strange relents. “Tony only has tonight and then he will lose his sight. The implant will come out and he will not longer have the any access to sight.”

“I thought,” Steve says and scrubs a hand through his still damp hair. “I thought he was going to be part of your clinical trial?”

“Right now, the trial isn’t in the cards for Tony. He’s not a good subject for the trial. Plus, the surgery to remove the implant is risky enough.” 

“What about the other people in the trial? Why do they-.”

“They have different issues. The trial is really for brain cancer. It’s not for this at all. We were going to modify the virotherapy specifically for Stark,” Wong says. “It was a shot in the million.”

“So, that’s it? It’s over?” Steve says and he feels his body curling, slumping. His legs shake. He might fall over; he grabs a streetlamp pole. “This is it?”

“There’s one possibility. But it’s very risky and we have no idea-.” Wong starts but Strange finishes. “If the virotherapy was a one in a million shot this is a one in a billion shot.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters and lays his forehead against the pole. He closes his eyes and thinks about the moments when he and Tony splayed out on the dewy grass and gazed at the stars in the heavens. “You can’t do this to him. How’s he going to work? He can’t use his virtual reality set up.” Everything just shutters, closes. He imagines seeing Tony closed, isolated. He’s always railed against ableism, but the truth of the matter is – the world is not made for visually impaired. It’s getting worse and worse for those who cannot see to enjoy the wonders of technology development. While some tech reaches out over the visual gap, other leaves the blind far behind, seeking around in the dark. 

“He needs you,” Strange says. “You need to come with us. Ms. Potts knows this now. Come. His speech is soon, and the crowds are dying down outside.” He nods to the entrance way where the people have drifted away. The paparazzi aren’t manning their stations. “That means they’re seating soon for the dinner.”

Strange ushers him along and Steve allows it. His mind whirls at the idea of Tony’s dreams disappearing. While Steve’s dreams have also wilted, he’s made new. He hopes and prays that Tony’s found new purpose in life, that he can _see_ beyond the scope of his current life to something greater and better beyond it. Tony’s always been a futurist, perhaps he has a plan, a way forward. Though at this point, it’s even hard for Steve to deal with the idea of Tony losing his dreams. How Tony will fare is another thing entirely.

The media barely recognizes him probably because he’s dressed up and not in a hoodie and shorts. It helps to not be a public figure. Strange places a hand at the small of Steve’s back as he offers the invitation to the hostess standing at the door. The hostess scans the invitation and then smiles to them, gesturing them toward the foyer. 

Steve enters the mansion and snaps his mouth shut, gawking at the place just shows his lack of class. He cringes. No wonder, Tony would never see anything in him. Steve’s dreams are just that – a fantasy of a man who thinks too much of himself. 

Heavy dark woods adorn the foyer, carved and embellished. A massive curving staircase dominates the back wall of the circular foyer. Strange points to the staircase and it surprises Steve, but there are a few other stragglers headed to the upper floors. They find their way to the third floor where the ballroom is. 

Before they get to the entrance to the room, Steve hears the clank of silverware and the din of people talking. Steve sucks in his breath. A cold tide crushes him as if he’s drowning in the frigid Arctic waters. Walking through the door means facing Tony, seeing his hopes and dreams that grew over the last two months bleed away. Inwardly he shivers and he tenses his hands into fists. He fights against it, shoving the anxiety away like he would during missions. He searches the room and doesn’t see Tony right away. Part of him relaxes but the larger part is simply disappointed. 

“Let’s find our seats,” Wong says, and they head toward the table at the entrance that indicates the table number they’ve been assigned. 

Steve lags behind as he studies the artistry of the ballroom itself. The idea of a ballroom on the third floor of a mansion seems ridiculous to Steve at first, but now he understands why. The center of the ceiling is an arched crystal dome, glittering with the night light of the city around it. From the massive dome hangs an ornately carved chandelier, the glass pieces and beads mimicking a shower of rain. It shines in the ballroom with an ethereal light. Along the walls of the ballroom, all of them adorn with a series of French doors out to the balcony, golden holographic images of lights flicker. That’s when Steve realizes the chandelier isn’t just cut glass, it’s also part of the holographic effects. The rain drops glimmering down in a shower are nothing more than light effects. It’s beautiful and reflective against the gold embellishments set along the frames of the doors and the chairs at the tables. Columns of gold and white mark the edges of the room and the gold and red carpet should look ostentatious and gauche, but it’s muted enough that it’s elegant. 

Near the front of the ballroom is a stage where a podium sits. Most of the tables are toward that side of the room while the other side hosts a number of bars and cocktail serving tables. Some people have found their way to their tables while others are mingling near the bars and serving tables. All the people attending are dressed as if they are at the Academy Awards – gowns, jewels, and tuxedos are the dress of the evening. Steve’s glad that Strange showed up at his door with a tux – he literally wouldn’t have had anything in his wardrobe fit for the gala. If there has ever been a time that Steve feels out of place it’s now. He’s never been to an affair like this – he feels like the stable boy stumbling into the palace’s ball. When he looks around for anchor, both Strange and Wong have abandoned him and are speaking with an older gentleman with a beard and an older woman with long white hair down up in a bun with trailing curls. Her age only enhances her beauty. 

His gaze drifts through the crowd and he admits to himself, he’s searching for Tony – and he finds him. He stands out. He’s the only one wearing a white tuxedo with a sharp steel gray vest. Instead of a bow tie he has something like an amulet at his throat closing the gap at the collar of his dress shirt. It gleams with a blue light. It bathes the front of his tuxedo in an ephemeral glow, giving Tony an almost fantastical essence. By his side is Pepper and Steve swallows down the ache in his chest as he sees the sparkle in Tony’s eyes as he watches the crowd through his glasses. He curses Strange for bringing him here. He shouldn’t have come. He was tossed aside from his employment and told he hadn’t protected Tony. His philosophy on how to be a personal assistant, a friend, maybe something more isn’t wanted here. Steve turns to leave and manages to bump right into Rhodes. 

“Colonel,” Steve says. “I’m sorry. I was just-.” He points to the exit. 

“Captain Rogers, it’s nice that you agree to come tonight,” Rhodes says and there’s something in his tone that stops Steve’s immediate need to escape. “Let me be the first to apologize for our over reaction to what happened with your employment.”

“Oh I-.” Steve has no response so he bites back his words.

“I am sorry. Pepper and I – well, we’ve been handling the situation for so long that we’ve actually stopped handling it and started to handle Tony. We started to treat him as if he couldn’t make his own decisions, as if he doesn’t understand. And that’s wrong. All of it is wrong.”

Steve clears his throat and nods. “I know what you mean, Colonel. When I was deployed, I had to learn to trust my team. I had to know that I couldn’t micromanage every situation. If I did get caught in the weeds, someone would get hurt because I was too busy worried about an infinitely small detail instead of the bigger picture.”

“I get that, had enough of that in my day. But somehow with Tony, you got past that pretty quickly. Pepper and I have been by his side for years now and we – well, we didn’t get there,” Rhodes admits. “Well, until recently.”

“I think I got there because Tony forced me to, he called me on the carpet about it so many times that I knew not to go there,” Steve says. He shrugs. “Maybe you and Pepper are just so close to the situation and managing it for so long that you’re kind of shell shocked by the tiniest issue now.” He rushes to add, “Not that this was a tiny issue. It was huge.”

“You’re right about that. This is a big issue, but we did overreact. Pepper knows it, I know it. And Tony didn’t want to see you gone. In fact, I know personally and painfully he asked about you incessantly.” Rhodes sticks out his hand. “So, please accept my apology.”

Steve grasps his hand. “Apology accepted.”

With a firm shake, Rhodes says, “Tony’s going to give a speech about the Maria Stark Foundation where he thanks the donors and also addresses what’s ahead for the Foundation and Stark Industries. It will set the trend for the company for the next year. All the press is here.” Rhodes gestures to the media tables off to the left side of the stage. “Everhart as well. So far everything has worked like charm.”

“Headaches?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, but he’s powering through it. The small amulet at his collar is a backup for the glasses. It’s not the greatest and warps the vision according to him, but it’s working to ease some of the issues.” Rhodes sighs. “Tonight is a big night for Tony. Not only should it put some of the rumors that Everhart has been spreading to rest, well, it will also launch a bunch of next tech. The plenary went well, but that was a closed session, so this – this will open everything up to scrutiny. A lot depends on this moment.”

“That’s a ton of pressure on his shoulders,” Steve says. 

“And he can’t do it without his friends,” Rhodes returns. “Say hello to him. It will make him feel better after everything that’s happened. He needs to know you’re here.”

Steve glances at Tony. He’s at the steps to the stage, bent close to Pepper as she speaks. Happy is there to, acting as Tony’s bodyguard, scanning the crowd for any threats. Then there’s Christine Everhart circling around the group, trying to get more information for her little scandal show. 

“If you think it would help?” Steve says and he hates that his voice sounds hopeful, questing for Rhodes to confirm for him.

“It will,” Rhodes replies and escorts Steve through the throng toward Tony. 

Huddled close to Tony are other security guards. Most of them are engaged in keeping the paparazzi at bay and only allow a small number of people close to Tony. Steve surmises it makes things easier this way for Tony to continue his charade. Right now, only Pepper is next to Tony as they stand only three steps to the stage. The lights briefly dim in the room, signifying people should be taking their places at the tables. Appetizers and cocktails are over. 

Steve checks his table and sees Wong and Strange settling next to the same couple they were speaking to earlier. When he turns back Rhodes has managed to break the barricade of guards and Steve’s face to face with Tony.

“Tony,” Steve says, his words breathless in his throat.

“Steve, I-. I didn’t expect you here tonight,” Tony says and glances over at Pepper. She smiles and offers her hand to Steve.

“It’s so good that you could come. I apologize for what happened, Steve. It was a misunderstanding. I hope you know that. I hope you will consider coming back and working with Tony again.”

A rollercoaster of emotions loops through him. His stomach swoops low with it and he feels as if he’s twisted upside down with no straps on to keep him safe. He might fall, right now. He’s never been one to put his hands in the air on a rollercoaster – just ask Bucky and their many trips to Coney Island. He clenches the bar and holds on tight, but not now. Now he’s in free fall.

He stares only at Tony. He’s sure it’s rude, but he can’t help himself. Tony’s mesmerizing in the white tux with the blue amulet glinting in the crystalline light. “Tony.” Steve wants to wither away and die. He can’t get anything else out.

Tony reaches out. His eyes – covered with contacts so to give the illusion of sight – aren’t what transfixes Steve. It’s Tony’s hand, cupping his jaw and cheek. “Steve.”

Maybe in his sidelong glance, Steve sees Pepper smile and bow her head with a look toward Rhodes, but he’ll never be able to confirm or deny it. All he can do is cradle Tony’s hand against his face and close his own eyes, bathing in touch rather than sight. 

There’s a flash and Steve jerks to see the Everhart is trying to barrel through the parade of guards. Tony only smiles and then Pepper says, “We have to go. It’s time.”

“After?” Tony asks.

Steve grabs his hand as it slips away. He gives it a squeeze and says, “Yes.” He’s saying yes to a thousand, a million things all at once. Tony lights up, glowing. He’s read everything that Steve means in one little word. 

Pepper tugs Tony away but with a kind and apologetic smile to Steve. Rhodes clasps Steve’s bicep and leads him back to his table. Before they get to the table, Steve hears a familiar voice and a quick grab of his hand stops them. Thor sits at a table with an older gentleman and lady. Jane is there with Val. 

“Steven!” Thor jumps to his feet and clamps Steve in an embrace. He beats him on the back and then separates but grips his shoulders. “We haven’t seen you since before the launch. It was spectacular! The reviews are raving about the story and the art. How modern and very driven it is. Stripped from today’s headlines. You must come back.” He shakes Steve a little.

Jane stands and rounds her chair to come over and hug Steve. She kisses him on each cheek. “If it hadn’t been for your beautiful art we wouldn’t be where we are today.”

“Steven. You must meet my mother Frigga and my father, Odin. All the way from Norway. They came in to see our set up. Decided to finance a whole line, after all. We have enough to work with you on your comic now. You can do this full time. With us!” Thor’s joy overwhelms Steve. The idea of focusing on his comic, the one he wrote and drew tempts him. This is the break he’s been waiting for during his entire artistic career.

Rhodes shifts and says, “It’s time.” He nods to the stage where Pepper’s about to take the podium. “Perhaps later?”

“Yes, yes,” Thor says. “You can come over and we’ll make the plans. We need you on board, Steven.”

Jane’s eyes are bright and Thor’s family expectant. Steve clears his throat and says, “I’m leaving the city for a while. Going to see friends. But I can talk to you-.”

Thor slaps him on the back and Steve coughs because of it. “Great! My friend, great.”

Rhodes yanks Steve away from Thor and his family and brings him to his assigned table. He leans down and says, “I’ll be back to get you after. Whatever you do, for God’s sake, don’t leave.” He glares at Thor who is still waving at Steve. “For anything.”

Rhodes walks away but not without turning several times as if to check that Steve has, at least, paid attention and stay put. Strange quirks at eyebrow at him, but Steve has no compunction to explain anything to him. He draws his attention to the rest of the table. Acknowledging the older couple, Steve says, “Steve Rogers.”

“Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne, my wife and my partner in all things scientific.” He stands to stretch out his hand to greet Steve. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Steve says and shakes the offered hand with a nod to Janet. 

“How do you know the Starks?” Pym settles back in his chair and Janet grimaces at him. “What? You want to know, too.”

Steve waves off the awkwardness. “I was Mister Stark’s Personal Assistant for a while this summer.”

Before they reply, Pepper steps to the podium and welcomes the crowd. “Welcome to the Maria Stark Foundation Gala. As some of you may recall, the first ten years of the gala it was simply a funding raising event by the Starks to draw attention to the fine arts as well as the need for investment in the arts in our schools. Now, the Maria Stark Foundation funds more than 130 primary, elementary, middle, and high schools in disadvantaged areas across the nation. This year the foundation will expand that to over 200 schools.”

The crowd cheers and yells their approvals. 

“Now, let me introduce you to the benefactor of the Maria Stark Foundation, Tony Stark.”

While Pepper moves from the podium to allow room for Tony. He raises a hand to the crowd and the flashes of cameras blink like fireworks under the crystal dome. The holographic projections throughout the dome glitter with tiny bursts of red flames. It’s all ostentatious and incredibly Tony and so very wonderful, Steve finds himself on his feet with the rest of the people whistling and howling his approval for the main benefactor of the Maria Stark Foundation.

Tony soaks it in, one hand to his chest and the other gesturing for everyone to please take their seats. He blows kisses to the throng and winks at the paparazzi. The standing ovation lasts for long minutes and by the time everyone takes their seats, the energy in the room is palpable. Everyone retakes their seats.

With a smirk on his lips, Tony says, “Don’t know if I can follow up that with anything more interesting, but let’s try.”

The audience chuckles in response. Steve surveys the crowd, all high hitters, movers and shakers of industry and government. He notices that most of the invited attendees are the people reportedly known for their generosity and their philanthropic motivations. There aren’t many of the superficial showy ones here, the rich who donate to get accolades. These are the wealthy who care – most of them. Steve suspects that Pepper only includes some of the rest including Von Doom simply to milk them for their money. It is thousands per plate. 

Steve looks down at his own plate and frowns. The wait staff are standing in the wings. Tony will give his short speech first before they come and serve dinner. The sheer wealth in the room overshadows everything else and Steve is just a particle of sand amongst the diamonds. Rhodes is wrong – Steve shouldn’t stay. He should get up, leave. If he ends up back in New York, it will be with Asgardian comics, not with Tony. He just doesn’t fit in. He starts to stand, but Tony is speaking and something in his tone, captures Steve, keeps him perched between remaining and leaving. 

“You know, it’s been a while, a long while since I thought of that night.” Tony’s voice softens. “It was a night like this. We were at a party, big one. Holiday. Mom was so happy because she convinced someone – maybe you all might remember – to donate a fashionably high amount to the Foundation. Howard – well, you all knew Howard.”

The crowd laughs, but it is one of those uncomfortable twitters, bubbling out only to release the shared abashed emotion in the room. 

“Howard was drunk. Really, really drunk. So, you know how it is kids, don’t drink and drive. Well, dear old dad didn’t listen.” Pepper leans in and whispers in his ear. He nods and raises a hand. “My lovely CEO – Pepper Potts – isn’t she the best?”

The audience is grateful to turn their attention to something other than the fatal car crash and applaud long and hard for Pepper. She thanks them without coming to the microphone. 

Tony continues, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to her. To Rhodey -.” Tony waves his friend up on stage. “Colonel James Rhodes everyone. Serving our country every day.”

Another round of appreciative applause. Steve rotates his shoulders, he’s too hot as he listens to Tony’s voice. The tone is off, like the distant howl on the wind warning of something coming. Rhodes steps away from the microphone after a bashful thank you and wave, leaving the podium to Tony again.

“My point is-. It’s – it’s family isn’t it. We’re all here for one reason. We want to take care of our family. Maybe we were poor as kids and scraped our way up, or maybe you’re someone like me born with the shiny silver – hell not even silver – vibranium spoon in my mouth. But I get it. I get how important it is to reach out, to care, to send a message. 

“But what is that message going to be?”

It’s Rhodes turn to whisper into Tony’s ear and he only smiles at his friend and then turns back to the microphone. “My mother wanted to share her love of art. This Foundation is her legacy. I want to share my fortunate life as well. I want to be able to know that no one will suffer from health or other issues because of lack of money and that’s why I am starting the Tony Stark Medical Foundation.”

The crowd holler and applauds, some standing as he speaks. Someone shouts of _run for office_. Steve notices Von Doom leaving and can’t help but snicker. But Tony’s not done yet.

He gets the audience to quiet again. “I’ve had the fortune to have the best medical care over the years. I think others should have the same opportunity.” He turns his attention to the paparazzi and Steve can see the Christine Everhart is front and center. “I’ve had the opportunity to stay behind the shadows, but I’m not going to anymore.”

Steve straightens in his chair as the air in the room vanishes.

Tony reaches up, touches his glasses, and then slips them down his face. He takes his thumb and forefinger to his eyes and pulls away the contacts. After that he tugs off the glimmering jewel at his neck. “I’m not going to hide. People who are not typically abled shouldn’t have to hide or conceal who they are. They shouldn’t have to remain in the shadows or use optical illusions to be accepted. No. Never. I’m not doing it anymore.”

Pepper looks stricken, Rhodes frozen.

Tony states it in a silent room. “I am blind.”

For a second there’s no reaction at all, but then it ripples over the audience, rolling and thundering. People leap to their feet; the reporters scream questions and cameras shutter and click. It’s a kind of controlled chaos that feels more like a battle than a gala. Both Rhodes and Pepper burst into action, striding over to Tony at the podium as people begin to swarm close like a hive of angry hornets. Steve rushes toward the stage, shouldering past the crowds, knocking chairs over as he forces his way through the mass of people. Guards line the stage and try and push the throng back. 

Steve curves around, flanking the stage and the security with ease as he targets the stage from the side back corner instead of the front. He’s at the foot of the steps as Pepper and Rhodes lead Tony down from the stage. Steve shouts his orders, “Security form a protective circle around Mister Stark. Don’t let anyone near him.”

For a second Steve thinks they might protest listening to him, but they reconsider when Pepper motions for them to get to it. She looks to Steve and says, “Get him out of here. I have to handle this.”

“Be careful,” is all Steve says before he nods to Rhodes to stay with Pepper and escorts Tony with the guards toward the back of the stage. 

As Steve ushers Tony away, he hears Pepper asking people to go back to their seats. She’s not answering questions thrown at her but she’s taking it like a trooper as she steers the audience back toward current Stark Industries advancements and that, yes, the research and development department is headed by Tony. Yes, he’s responsible for the majority of advancements brought to market over the last decade by Stark Industries. Yes, even blind. 

“It shows you exactly what Tony Stark is capable of. It shows you that all disabled people have abilities that we as abled bodied people ignore or cast aside,” Pepper says.

Before Steve knows it, the guards have moved them into the back entrance to the ballroom and they stumble right into Christine Everhart’s path. The entourage stops.

“What? What’s happening?” Tony asks.

Steve presses his hand over Tony’s on his bicep. “We’ve bumped into one of your biggest fans.”

“Don’t tell me, Justin Hammer,” Tony quips.

Christine snickers and says, “Finally, Tony Stark comes clean.” 

The guards are about to move on her when Tony raises a hand and stops them. “Let me.” 

Happy motions for the security force steps to the side allowing Tony, Steve, and Everhart to meet. The reporter studies Tony much like a spider considers its prey, trapped, webbed, and ready to drain. 

She arches a brow and says, “How the mighty fall.”

“You’ll be surprised. No one’s falling tonight,” Tony replies, his tone cool, collected. 

“That’s what you hope, but your stock is bound to take a hit. You know that, it’s one of the reasons you’ve been hiding this, for what? Ten years. Just the fact that you were able to so successfully manage to hide something like being blind is an accomplishment in and of itself, but the fact that you are the major force behind your company’s advancements, that knocks it out of the park.” She barely acknowledges Steve; all her energy is focused on Tony. “So, let me help you with your little problem.”

“Problem? I’m afraid my being blind isn’t something I’m willing to call a problem anymore,” Tony says. Steve feels Tony’s muscles tense against his hand, knowing he’s about to shove Everhart aside.

“Not talking about that. I’m talking about your stock price. It’s going to drop, and it’s going to drop big. You give me an exclusive and I’ll make sure that interview paints you all roses and rainbows,” Everhart says. Her smile seems genuine to Steve, but then again he doesn’t know her.

“Oh yeah? Why would you do that?” 

Everhart closes the small distance between them. She’s inches from Tony. “My brother is deaf. All his life he’s had to live in a world not made for him, deal with people shouting at him like that’s going to help, think he’s an idiot because he doesn’t speak.” She looks Tony up and down and then says, “It’s time for him and others like him to have someone like you, someone in the spotlight, someone to be their hero, their advocate. I want to do this. I’ll give you a forum, all you have to do for me is promise me you’re not going to back out. You’re going to do this.”

Tony doesn’t hesitate and it blossoms warm in Steve’s chest. “You got it. Come to the offices on Wednesday. Exclusive just you, me, and my assistant.”

“And camera crew,” Everhart adds.

Tony grins, that winning smile. “And camera crew. See you then Everhart.” 

“Thank you,” Everhart replies and the sincerity of her words is clear and surprising. 

Tony leans into Steve and whispers, “Get me out of here.” 

Happy nods to Steve.

“As you wish,” Steve says and he hurries Tony through the backrooms, listening for Tony’s directions.

“I used to run the servants’ entrances all the time as a kid. I grew up here.” They race down the back stairs. “To the left and then we’ll take the service elevator down to the underground parking.”

“This place has an underground garage?” Steve smiles; his hand clenches to Tony’s, warm and sweet against his palm. The morning is distant now, the thoughts that roamed through his head compelling him to up and leave the city are alien to him. His plans have broken up like he’s on a game board and it’s splintering under his feet. He doesn’t know what the next square is, he doesn’t know his next move – all he knows is the pulse of Tony next to him, touching him.

When they get to the service elevator, it takes a bit for the car to arrive and Steve anxiously looks behind them, worried the wait staff or some of the media reporters will sneak away and find them. The elevator dings its arrival and they step on. 

The ride down to the ground floor isn’t long and Steve presses his lips tight, he wants to ask Tony what’s next. He stares at the floors clicking off. It doesn’t take long, but it drags out when the doors open, and he has no answers from Tony. 

“Garage floor?” Tony asks.

Steve peers out of the elevator around the corner and see the glass door to the underground garage. “Yes. Looks like it.”

“Come on then,” Tony says and grips Steve’s upper arm again, waiting for him to lead the way.

“Where are we going exactly?” Steve steps out of the elevator, trying to exude confidence but feeling like that little boy at the age of five fessing up to breaking a mirror at the department store. 

“Well, that bike on the island wasn’t the only one I own.” Tony offers him a lopsided grin. Steve arches a brow at Tony, knowing full well that the man has no idea about his facial expression, but surprises are in the air tonight. “Don’t give me that look. Oh and you thought I wouldn’t know that you’re giving me that look that Pepper has perfected over the years? You’re way out of your league. Onto the Harley.”

“You’re in a white tuxedo, Tony. I’m in a tux. Neither of us should hop on a motorcycle and start driving around New York City. It’s not known for being a pristinely clean place, you know.” They’re standing at the entrance to the garage. Steve can see the Harley. 

Tony presses his weight against Steve’s arm. Steve steps into the touch, yearning for more but not knowing if it’s allowed. “It’s a Road King, tricked out special. Gold and Red. Isn’t she a beaut? Most have a Milwaukee Eight standard engine, but I did my own enhancements way beyond the normal touring models. Also has direct connectivity to Friday and Twin cooled and a torque that makes it the best around for anything your heart desires.”

“Anything?” Steve asks, his mouth dry.

“Anything at all. Take me for a ride, Steve. Get me out of here before they find me and the hell that’s breaking loose up there becomes my life. Show me that this was the right thing to do today,” Tony says, and his words are said with heated despair. “Give me a brief moment.” He doesn’t have to voice the rest of his thoughts, Steve already knows – a brief moment of happiness.

He scans the underground garage and spots the helmets for the motorcycle. This is all kinds of wrong, he knows that, but he cannot say no to Tony. Everything from this point forward in his life will be centered on Tony. His fulcrum, his true North, Steve finally comprehends the idea of it. What it all means. It’s as if he’s walked through an envelope separating his old life from the new one – the present one. He never wants to go back. This is where he belongs. He squeezes Tony’s hand and brings him along as he grabs the helmets. 

“You’re suit is going to be trashed,” Steve warns as he touches the helmet to Tony’s hand. He accepts it with a smile. “White and motorcycles don’t really go together.”

“Well, neither do blind guys, but hell I’ve always been a trendsetter.” He winks at Steve as he fastens the helmet. “Lead the way. By the way this isn’t a tricked out helmet, just to let you know. I’m at your mercy, Rogers.”

“Keys?” Steve asks. 

Tony slips them out of his pocket and holds them up.

“How do you have them?” Steve takes the keys. If Tony had the keys on him all this time, this wasn’t something that he just did on a whim. “You planned this.”

“Well, not all of it. I wasn’t going to reveal my big secret. But I did plan on leaving the gala early, just with a lot more ability to see,” Tony says. “Are we going or not?”

Steve grasps the keys and nods. Remembering himself, he replies. “Yeah we are.”

They fly then. They fly far and wide and escape the lights, the sounds, the chaos of the city and their lives. They fly away.


	13. Chapter 13

There’s nothing more terrifying than the moments before it all happens. The anticipation of love, the excitement of sex, the arousal all play into it, but the terror of that first time plays strongly in his head, in the darkness around him. 

Contrary to what the media believes, Tony hasn’t had many partners. As a young man he played the field, but then the accident happened, and he severely cut off his sexual antics. He’s no blushing virgin to be sure, but his partners of late have been few. His last partner had been Pepper. It worked until it didn’t with her. They were on two different trajectories, and Pepper did have a tendency to mother hen Tony. 

Being with Steve brings insecurities that should have been sealed up and packed into the back of a trunk somewhere forever. Tony holds onto Steve as they veer through the streets, as they head away from the city without a destination in mind. Tony wishes he didn’t need to wear the helmet. It wants to rest his cheek against the length of Steve’s back, he wants to feel the reality of the moment and know that they are, in fact, on the same trajectory. Here, clasped against Steve, he doesn’t feel isolated and alone in the darkness but suddenly aware. The rest of his life – even when he could see – has been a dull prison, but now something new and transformative has occurred. The fear that Steve might not feel it too beckons like a monster in that dark that Tony’s confined.

He needs to hear Steve. He needs to know they are on the same page, in the same book. “Hungry?” he says over the intercom in the helmet.

“Starved. Wanna stop some place along the way?”

Tony wants to ask along the way to where, but then again, he is the one that asked Steve to take him away without any specific instructions. They head out from the city, so Tony knows it’s not going to be Steve’s apartment. Brooklyn, New York fades behind them as they continue their escape. 

“We can stop at a diner somewhere,” Steve adds, and Tony agrees. 

A diner somewhere no one would think to find Tony Stark – a blind Tony Stark. Something, some shadow of the future shivers down his spine. He did this to himself; he needs to acknowledge who he is. It’s been a decade since the accident and for all those years he’s been denying everything. He failed to mourn. He cried for the death of his mother and even for his father. He grieved over the loss of his parents and his loneliness as an orphan at the tender age of seventeen. He never mourned for himself. Tony’s no stranger to self-pity but he engineered his way out of dealing with his blindness. His brilliance defeated him in many ways because he never explored what life could be like or offer as a visually impaired individual. He always thought of _that Tony_ as someone less. He discriminated against himself. Told himself, he is less because he cannot see. Never in all the years before the accident had Tony ever considered the idea of being below average, less. 

Before he realizes it, Steve’s pulling over and Tony can hear the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the bike. “Little roadside dinner.”

“Oh, great,” Tony replies and waits for Steve to stop the bike. He’s a little disoriented when he goes to get off the bike – with the motion and the lack of visual clues he sways a bit. Steve steadies him with a hand to his shoulder. 

“Okay?” Steve says as Tony pulls off the helmet.

“Yeah.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Just hard to orient myself. Don’t even have Dummy here with me to give me directions.”

“Well, if you want to call me Dummy, I can fill that role,” Steve says and there’s a lightness in his voice that invites. 

“I’d really like that.” Tony hisses. “Not calling you Dummy, but for you to help me.”

“You took a lot on your shoulders, Tony. You never wanted others to help you, but they were always there.” Steve leads the way to the diner as Tony clutches his bicep.

“Always, and they were always helping me. Though I rebelled against,” Tony comments and he doesn’t know if he feels ashamed or proud. “I guess it was wrong.”

“Now who’s talking ableist?” Steve says and Tony hears the swing of the door and then the clatter of plates and an old transistor radio playing in the background. “You get to decide what’s right for you and when. You taught me that, Tony.” 

A hostess must see them. From across the room, a woman yells, “Be right with ya, sweetums.”

“Hmm, my kind of place,” Tony laughs. 

“I very much doubt that. This is more my speed.” Steve angles Tony toward the booths as the woman directs them to a table. 

Steve knocks on the table and says, “Your tux is ruined. Mine isn’t far behind, but yours is a mess from the road. White should never be worn in New York City.”

Tony locates the table based on Steve’s signal and instruction that it’s a booth. He slides onto the seat. Steve takes the bench seat across from him. The waitress comes over and hands them both menu until she figures out that Tony’s blind.

“Oh I’m sorry, dear. I can read it to you if you want?” Tony guesses by the woman’s voice she is probably older, in her early sixties. 

“That will be fine, I can do it,” Steve says.

“I’m just really sorry,” the waitress repeats.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Tony waves her off and sighs when he hears the click of her shoes on the linoleum floor. “Christ this is going to be hard.”

“People want to help. It’s not that they all assume you can’t get by, it’s that most people have a good streak in them,” Steve says and reaches out to Tony. He clasps Tony’s hand. “Now what would you like?”

“Cheeseburger, fries, doughnuts, and a milkshake.”

“That’s heart stopping. I think I’m going to get a club sandwich, fries, and a milkshake too.” 

When the waitress comes over to the table, she asks, “What’s would you like?” Steve orders first and then when it’s time for Tony to order, she says, “What will he have?”

“Tony is perfectly capable of ordering his own meal,” Steve snaps.

“Oh sorry. Sorry.” Her voice pitches louder as if he can’t hear as well as see.

Tony frowns but orders his meal just to get her away from the table. “That was exactly what I expected.”

“Yeah. I didn’t. What the hell?” Steve raps at the table a few times.

“Whoa there, Captain America, no need to go all superhero on me.” Tony grabs for Steve’s hand and catches it. “Let’s just pretend she was trying to be helpful like you said.”

“Now who’s putting his faith in people,” Steve asks. 

Tony hears the radio with its static laced music fill the diner. It’s a small place, Tony can tell because of the acoustics. He always had a good ear, his mother taught him piano as a youngster and he took to it easily enough, though it couldn’t hold his attention much to her chagrin. The place isn’t full to capacity, Tony can tell due to the clank of silver ware and the muted sounds of chatting. “Small place, not a lot of people here. You come here often?” Internally he hisses at the cheap pick up line.

Steve laughs and says, “No. I’ve never been here before. Roadside diner. I decided to take the back roads once we got out of the city.”

“Smart move,” Tony says. “You already know too much about the paparazzi.”

The waitress arrives with their food and quietly places the dishes in front of them. She hovers close and Steve thanks her and dismisses her. “I think she wanted to do my job for me. Your cheeseburger is in the center of the plate. The fries are in a plastic basket with paper at 2 o’clock. The milkshake is at 11.”

“Ketchup.”

Steve picks it up and reaches for Tony’s hand, putting it in his grasp. “Need any help.”

“Nope. Thanks. Contrary to popular belief in my household I do know how to function as a blind person. Dummy and the glasses only go so far. I spend the vast majority of my time being visually impaired.” 

“Yeah I got that,” Steve says. He falls silent and Tony knows why. This isn’t supposed to be about Tony and his blindness, this – this was about their escape, about acknowledging who they are to one another. Is it just boss and Personal Assistant or something more? Steve clears his throat. “Really your tux is ruined.”

“I’m okay with that,” Tony says and shifts around in his seat. He’s never felt this nervous, like a schoolboy. “If it means I get to be alone with you, I’m fine with it.”

“You were alone with me a lot on the island, Tony,” Steve says but his voice has dropped an octave. 

“But that was different,” Tony starts. He picks up a fry but doesn’t eat it. “Tell me I’m not reading this wrong. I don’t have all my senses but to me – to me you’re electric.”

Steve doesn’t answer right away and the time it takes stretches out. It spreads out before him like the stars they watched in the sky over the island, a vast darkness with hope speckled through it. He clears his throat and Tony squishes the fry.

“Electric?”

“It’s like you’re my North – so maybe not electric itself, but electromagnetic? I don’t know. I’m just tuned to you, I know where you are, I can tell the expression on your face just by the way you breathe. I can feel the hope and the pain. It’s a physical thing. Am I reading it all wrong?” Tony asks and there’s an agony growing deep in his chest. 

Steve holds the hand with the smashed fry. “No, Tony.” Steve peels his fingers open to release the crumbs of the fry. “You’re not reading this wrong. I can’t -.”

Tony jerks his hand away. “You can’t be with me.” He folds his hands on his lap. He can’t help it, but his shoulders curl in. He wants to be strong, arrogant, self-confident but it hits too closely to home. The music on the radio turns to only static. “You can’t be with me because you can’t deal with it. I get it. I understand.” He doesn’t, of course. How could he? He’s been living with this impairment for a decade. The shadows of his life are all he has now. Nothing left. Not even music.

“No, Tony. No. That’s not what I was saying.” Steve gets up and then slides into the booth on Tony’s side, forcing him to push in further toward the wall. He clasps both of Tony’s hands in his own. “That’s not what I was saying. I was saying that I can’t ever have hoped to be with you. I have nothing to offer. I’m an Army Vet with nightmares and a freelance comic book artist that can’t hold a job. I was lucky to have you pick me. Me! Of all the people you interviewed for the Personal Assistant job.

“Now, you say you want more? You want me? I’ve been by your side all this time, but damned within the first few weeks you could have stopped paying me and I would still have been there, Tony. I want to be there. For you. It’s all you. I’m amazed, stymied by your brilliance. I’ve learned so much. And I’ve discovered so much more. You make me a better me.”

Tony cups his hand to Steve’s jaw. “I'm not half as good at—at anything as I am when I'm doing it next to you.”

Steve moves into Tony’s hand. “I never thought I could have this. It just seemed like I was making it up.”

“No, never.” He feels the slight stubble along Steve’s jawline. The strength of his jaw, the chiseled features, how he wants to touch it all, explore it. “Do you mind if we get this all to go?”

Steve smiles under his hand and it sends shocks, thrilling and surprising, through Tony. “Yeah. I think that would be good.”

It only takes a few minutes for Steve to signal the waitress to get the food boxed up. As they walk out of the diner, Tony leans into Steve careless of whether or not people can tell that Steve leads him. He finds his heart settling to it, the idea of Steve as his partner, as part of him seems dangerously natural. 

Steve stows the food in the small trunk on the back of the bike and then asks, “Back to the city?”

“No, I want to stay away. Out here. Do you think we can find a place?”

“Well, I saw a motel, if you don’t mind a one star motel that is, a ways back,” Steve replies.

Tony holds his helmet and nods. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Is there a drug store around?”

“There’s a gas station across the road,” Steve says. “We should probably fill up.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees. It’s probably not going to have what he needs. 

He must make a face because Steve asks, “What is it? Do you need meds? Have a headache?”

He’d had a headache earlier when he tossed the glasses, but the truth is he hasn’t thought of it for hours now. “No. Not really. I-.” This is presumptuous of him, but he’s going to say it anyhow. He’s Tony Stark after all. “I think we need condoms and lube. Now we might not but that’s my read of the situation.”

Steve guffaws and then outright laughs. “Seriously?”

“Oh I-.” He really did read the situation wrong. “I didn’t-.”

Steve wraps Tony in a hug and says, “I’ll get what we need. Hang on.” He’s only gone for a few minutes but standing by the bike, in the middle of nowhere, and in the dark both literally and physically freaks him out. He listens to the clunking of the gas pump, the whiz of cars going by on the road, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lamps with the occasional ping of bugs hitting it. He stands there, he could be standing anywhere – on the moon. He has no idea where he is or which way the store is. He’s fairly certain which way the road is by the sounds of the infrequent car, but other than that, he’s alone. He shudders in isolation.

As soon as Steve reappears, Tony is nearly climbing him. “Sorry, Tony. I didn’t think. That was so – damn. I’m really sorry.” 

“I just.” Tony shivers. “I’m no damsel in distress, but hell that was fucking distressing. I haven’t ever had this happen before. Early on, kind of, but not now.” He puts his hand to his forehead. “Can we just leave?”

Steve kisses the crown of his head. “Yeah. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, Tony. I have to be aware.”

“Let’s not go there. Let’s just leave.” 

Steve nods and they both buckle on their helmets and get onto the bike. Tony presses up against Steve and his racing heart eases. He can breathe again. This is steady fair weather in the face of any storm, this is where he belongs. He closes his eyes and wishes again that he could listen to Steve’s heart beating. Instead Steve is humming a tune. Tony can’t place it but it lulls him sweetly and he smiles. He hadn’t thought about his actions today, hadn’t really planned it. But it feels right, like he’s finally in his own skin after being forced to pretend he’s someone else for so long. 

It takes all of 15 minutes for Steve to roll into another gravel parking lot for the motel. He hears the fizzle and pop of fluorescent lights that are on the brink of death. 

Steve helps Tony take off his helmet and takes off his own. “Well, let’s see if the Motel West has any vacancies.” Steve offers his arm to Tony with a slight nudge and he guides them both to the main building. “This is a tiny building. There are several cabins in the back. It looks like an ax murderer might find this place attractive. Last chance for going back to the city.”

“No. This is good.”

“You’re positively serene.”

“It’s hard not to be when so much weight as been lifted off my shoulders. Gravity can’t keep me down,” Tony replies as they step through the threshold for the small main office. It smells like mildew and old papers. Steve steps up to the desk and rings the little bell. 

“Yeah? Whose there?”

“Sorry, ma’am we’re just looking for a room for the night,” Steve says.

Before the woman answers, she sizes them up. Her breathing huffs and her footsteps are heavy on the broken hard wood floors. “Look like you ran away from a wedding. He the groom?”

“No, ma’am. Do you have a room available?”

“You want 2?” Her nostrils whistle when she exhales.

“One will do, ma’am.”

She grumbles and then Tony hears the plunk of a keychain on the desk – not even a keycard. “Cabin 2. Don’t bother old Logan. He’s got a lot of issues and he likes knives too much. He’s in Cabin 3. He always is.”

“Got it. Thanks, ma’am.” Steve slides the keychain over the desk and picks it up.

“You want some beers? I got beers for $3 a can.”

“No thanks, ma’am,” Steve replies and turns Tony toward the door.

“Just make sure he don’t wander into Cabin 3. I don’t want no trouble with old man Logan.” 

“But I like to wander!” Tony yells over his shoulder and Steve yanks him out the door. Tony chuckles. “We should get some knives and pretend he got us.”

“That’s not funny. He’s obviously a psycho. Maybe we should go back to the city,” Steve says as he steers them to the bike. 

Tony yanks on him and shakes his head. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Plus, it has to be getting late. I don’t think I can take another few hours on the bike. Can you?”

Steve drags Tony over to the bike and flips open the hood of the small trunk. “No. I can’t, but I’m still starved so we have to get our food. Even if it is getting cold. Here take the milkshakes. They only made a little bit of a mess in the trunk.” Steve foists the milkshakes at Tony. He manages to hold the cardboard tray and not tip them over while Steve retrieves the bag with their food. “Can you hang on or should I just put a hand on your shoulder?”

“That’s probably best,” Tony says, and he’s steered toward cabin 2. 

Steve unlocks the door and pushes it open. Tony hears him switch on the light and then he instructs, “Walk about three paces forward and two your left and you’ll get to a table to put the milkshakes on.”

“Thanks.” The directions are perfect. 

Steve follows him in, placing the bag of dinner on the table and locking the door behind him. “Here, let me get you oriented.” Over the course of the next half hour, Steve teaches Tony the layout of the room, the bathroom. He explains the type of television – a console! The ugly lamp with its wooden and brass base on the table next to the bed. The outlandish wallpaper on the top half of the wall (rows of oranges and limes) while the bottom half has knotted pine paneling. The floors have shag rugs that match the limes. While the bathroom is basic and easy to get around for Tony. 

The table near the door has two wooden chairs at it and Steve leads Tony to it to finish their interrupted dinner. Steve sets the table as Tony pops the drinks out of the holder and gives one to Steve and one to himself. Setting of the table entails simply putting down a napkin and then their dinner on each of the unfolded paper napkins. 

“I’m starving,” Steve says as he chews his sandwich. “Fries are cold. They’re really no good cold.”

“Nope,” Tony says and bites into his cheeseburger. It’s still mildly warm. “By the way, I’m sorry.”

“About?”

“Assuming. I made you go and get condoms and lube because I assumed we were going -. Well, it’s not romantic at all. I wanted our first time to be romantic, not this.” He eats more of his cheeseburger to stop his mouth from spitting out all his secrets.

“You thought about our first time?” Steve says and his hand touches Tony’s wrist. “Really?”

“Yeah?” Suddenly he forgets about the burger. “I didn’t want to hope. But yeah, I did. I tried not to. But I kind of daydreamed about it.”

“I’m blown away,” Steve says and his voice beams. The chair scrapes across the carpet and Steve’s on his knees in front of Tony. “I’ve been thinking about you, hoping, wishing. But I thought it was all just wishful thinking. That I never had a chance. And now, you’re sitting here in front of me. We bought lube.” Steve laughs and it’s contagious. “I have condoms in my pocket. Because I’m getting a chance with you. I don’t know what romantic is, but Tony, thinking about someone – well, to me that’s one way to get a fella interested, to me, at least.”

“I was thinking on the ride over here that I screwed up, that this would be awkward. I don’t want you to feel cheap or that this is a one night stand, because to me it’s not.” Tony runs his hand through Steve’s hair. “To me this is the start of something.” He wants to touch all of Steve, know every expression, every inch of his body. “Let me touch you?”

“Anything, Tony, anything.”

It starts easy and soft. Tony uses his hands, his fingers to read Steve’s face. He feels the muscles high on his cheeks showing that Steve’s smiling and when he moves to brush a hand near his eyes he encounters the tiniest stain of a tear. He bends down and kisses the tear away, murmuring that it’s all right, they have all night and more. His lips find Steve’s and there’s chaste kissing at first, but then Tony begs entrance and Steve parts his lips. As Tony explores, Steve makes the most delicious moan into his mouth that sends shivers down his spine and spikes his desire. 

Tony cradles Steve to him but then the larger man shifts and stands, but never breaks the kiss. He wraps Tony in his arms, and then lifts him off the chair. It’s all kind of bodice ripping front cover of an old romance novel carry, but Tony doesn’t care. He’s in Steve’s arms, and it feels natural, right, and so very hot. 

At the bed, he lowers Tony and then Steve’s on his knees again next to the bed. They’re still in their ridiculous tuxedoes and Tony wants Steve out of his, so that he can feel every inch of his body. 

“Is this all right? The bed, that is?” Steve asks.

Tony grabs Steve’s lapels. “It’s fine. I just don’t know what you’re doing down there.”

“Thought I’d help you undress,” Steve says and unties Tony’s left shoe and then his right shoe. Tony’s perfectly capable of disrobing on his own, but the idea of Steve peeling off his clothes, of touching him sets him on fire. Steve telegraphs every motion, every touch. It takes away none of the anticipation or thrill, only builds on it. He slips off each shoe and then runs his long fingers up Tony’s ankle to slide off each sock. In a slight surprise Steve kisses the inside of Tony’s ankles before rising to his feet and putting his hands on his shirt, unbuttoning it.

“So many times, when I was next to you in the lab, listening to your ideas, trying to keep up with you to capture you were inventing, I would think about touching. Having the ability to touch you anywhere, everywhere,” Steve whispers, his voice shakes as if he’s unsure that Tony would welcome these words, this intimacy. He gently nudges the jacket off Tony’s shoulders and then takes it away. Tony hears it drop to the floor. He reaches for Steve’s hand and finds it easily.

“What about you?” Tony says and his own voice is husky and raw with want. 

Steve shucks his shoes and then his jacket. It tumbles to the floor. “I’m getting there.” His voice smiles.

“How do you do that? How do you manage to smile with the sounds of your voice?” Tony beams as Steve joins him on the bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve replies and his hands are on Tony’s face and then glides down his neck to his open shirt. The shirt comes off along with his vest. Tony only has his pants on now.

“Now yours,” Tony says and tugs Steve onto the bed. He explores the width of his shoulders before going to unbutton the shirt and vest. He glides his hands down to the small of Steve’s waist and there’s a little puff of air that Steve release in response. Tony goes to the buttons, the vest and shirt are taken away and he’s left with a t-shirt. “What are you trying to do to me?” He laughs a little and yanks the shirt off over Steve’s head. 

“What can I say, I sweat a lot. I didn’t want to ruin the tux. It isn’t mine.”

“Silly, silly boy,” Tony says and climbs onto Steve’s lap. He straddles Steve and runs his fingers through his hair, and he busies himself with kissing every inch. He starts at Steve’s lips, wanders along his jaw up to his eyes and then back to his lips. Kissing Steve frees Tony. He’s been bound by chains, hard and unforgiving for nearly a decade. The experiences he’s had in the love department can only be qualified as quick fucks – except for Pepper. Each and every one night stand he offered so little to, they never wanted to return. Now, as he molds himself to Steve, the tension, the fear, the lack of understanding melts away and he longs to lay himself bare for Steve. All of him.

Steve pulls away for a second and says, “You’ll find I’m not much of a little boy at all.” He flips Tony around and they’re lying on the bed, Steve’s weight pressed over him, securely, a welcome comfort. He feels the length of Steve’s erection against his thigh and shudders in response. Without the glasses, his body tunes to Steve’s warmth, to the skin to skin touch, to his breathing, his sounds. Everything seems so much closer, present. 

In no time at all the rest of their clothes have been discarded. On the bed, side by side they kiss in small seeking kisses, not exploring, not deep, just beyond a friendly peck but this side of passionate. It’s lazy and beautiful and tingles every nerve in Tony’s body. Their needs for one another slow cooks in drowsy waves of yearning and Tony appreciates every morsel of it. Eventually he moves on, discovering the ridges and curves of Steve’s well sculpted body. Every touch and pause he makes causes Steve to hiss and shiver against his palm. When Steve reciprocates the touches, it amplifies in Tony’s head, it coils deep in his groin, it sets a blaze of want and desire in his nerves. 

Tony loves the arch of Steve into his touches, how he judders as Tony takes a nipple into his mouth and suckles and then nips. Against his leg he feels Steve’s erection dripping with every nip, with every lick. His own cock aches with hardness and he pauses, panting because he might blow it and spill early if he doesn’t stop. Plus, he does need to confess something to Steve.

He places his forehead against Steve’s chest as he inhales the rich scent of their musk. “I need to tell you something.”

Steve must understand hear the hesitation in his tone. He wraps his arm and leg around Tony. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” He kisses Tony’s hair.

“I haven’t really done anything like this in a while. I mean.” Tony swallows down his shame. “Not a lot of guys want to you know, fuck you, if you have to wear glasses all the time. It’s weird and it puts people off, so I just didn’t go that far with anyone since – well, since before the accident-.” 

Steve puts his finger on Tony’s lips. “Shh. I have to admit, I had a boyfriend in college. Arnie. But not anyone since other than Peggy. So we’ll take it slow, you know. We don’t have to do everything all at once.” 

Tony kisses Steve’s finger and then grasps it. “I want to do everything. I want you to fuc-let me rephrase that. Steve, I want you to make love to me.” Against him the tension drains out of Steve, he curls around Tony even more protectively. Tony reaches up to kiss him and finds streaks of tears on his face. “Hey, hey. No crying. This is good.”

Steve nods into Tony’s hand and then they kiss again. It’s becoming a necking session and part of Tony wants to float away on. It feels so good to just be in someone’s arms that he trusts and doesn’t have to be anyone else for; it’s liberating. 

Steve breaks away first and says, “Okay. As I recall from my limited experience, I should prep you. Do you want to try it, or would you like something else?”

“I want you in me, I want to feel every part of you.” Tony murmurs because, even in this most intimate moment, a small part of him is abashed. 

“Okay, then.” Steve continue to kiss him but the necking transforms as he slowly tastes and attends every part of Tony’s body, setting nerves into overdrive. His body like a race car waiting for the gun roars with life and need. It is too much and too little all at the same time. 

Steve misses nothing, laving and licking at his nipples until Tony’s blanking with the sensation, cold and hot together mixing into a breaking wave, and then cresting for more. He pays special attention to curve of Tony’s waist and when he giggles a little at Steve’s ministrations and tries to bat him away, Steve catches his hand and blows delicately on Tony’s wrist. His cock throbs and jumps in response. 

“Please, Steve. Please.”

“You like that, huh?” Steve says and his words ring with a smile. Tony only nods and opens his legs. He’s wanton and hungry for it. Steve sits up and waits. “Now where did we put that lube.” He’s stalling, teasing and Tony groans and whaps at the air. 

Steve chuckles again, taking Tony’s wrist and kissing it. “You have no patience.”

“And you are cruel and indecent to a blind man.”

“You want to know what indecent is, well, I just found the lube.”

Tony moans and shivers. He feels like that seventeen-year-old again. But this is hundreds, thousands times better than quickies in the library stacks, or in the men’s room at the local bar near MIT. This is a real connection, not just some bodies fucking, but a celebration. He grabs for Steve as he hears the click of the tube opening.

“Wait, wait. This isn’t like easy you know. Especially if you haven’t done it in a while,” Steve says. “Just relax.” He feels the briefest touch at his entrance and tenses and his erection fades a bit. “Just relax.” Steve’s words are melodious, and he tenderly circles his one hand on Tony’s lower abdomen right above his cock while he rubs warmed lube on his entrance. Slowly he introduces a finger. It glides it with ease as Steve keeps talking, saying small intimate and loving words to Tony. “I can’t believe how hot you are, Tony. How strung out on this you look, like your high on it. It drives me crazy seeing you like this, so blazingly starving for it.” 

Tony groans. He pushes onto Steve’s finger and then in a while a second finger gains entrance and Tony jerks and a warm spurt of precome splatters on his belly. 

“God, don’t do that or I’ll come right now,” Steve said and the words encompass Tony with such affection and love he’s pliant and open. “So open, Tony. Tony.” He keeps muttering his name and working him open with more lube and another finger.

Tony’s pushing, thrusting on Steve’s fingers, painfully hard now. “Please, Steve. Now, please.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.” He slips his fingers out and then Tony hears the condom opening. 

He expects the next thing he feels will be Steve entering him, but it isn’t. A hot moist tongue licks his entire length and then he’s swallowed down. Tony bucks under Steve and cries out. He doesn’t want to come yet. This is sweet torture. He’s barely breathing, his air sticks in his lungs. He rumbles against Steve as he sucks and rubs his tongue against Tony’s cock.

“Please. Fuck, Steve. Please!”

Steve pulls away and Tony’s cock feels abused and hot, needy, and too thick. He wants to curl to his side and jerk off right now, but Steve stops him. Opens his legs again and then the head of his cock nudges at Tony. He quavers.

Steve rubs his hand along Tony’s thigh, calming him and then pushes in. At first it hurts, there’s resistance and pressure. “Breath, Tony. Push a little it will help.”

Tony does and at the same time Steve pushes forward again. He’s over the ring of muscle and then gliding in. Tony huffs out a breath as Steve tells him to keep breathing. It’s too much. The thickness and weight, filling him. The sensation throws him, a wild and untamable feeling. It’s rushing through him, his blood pounds in his ears and all he can think is how much his body burns with it, how much more he wants, and then Steve’s buried deep inside him. All the way. Tony hears something, incoherent and embarrassingly perverse. It’s Tony – the noises of want and desire fill him.

“More,” he murmurs. “More.”

“Adjust, Tony. Adjust to it, first,” Steve says and kisses Tony’s abdomen.

“Am adjusted. Move, please move.”

The first thrust sends him skyward, the brightness of lights a living thing inside of him. No. He cannot see, but yes, he sees everything. His senses are afire with it. The thrusting, and movement pitch him to the heavens, and he shudders and shakes. He cannot stop himself. His body roils with it, he’s free of every Earthly impediment. Released from his anxiety, his self-doubt. Under Steve’s tender, loving hands, he’s who he should always be. Then they are moving together. Steve moans into Tony’s ear and cries out as he moves in rhythm with Tony. He’s hot and sweating. Tony grips Steve’s face and kisses him, hard, passionate and resoundingly. 

Steve curls his hand between them, capturing his erection and stroking it, pushing it through his hand wet with Tony’s own precome. Tony arches up and into it. It’s more than he can bear. His hyper awareness of touch overwhelms. The sensation grips him and he bucks again and that’s all it takes. Steve’s motion becomes erratic and then he’s shoving hard and fast into Tony, the sounds are raw and yearning. He stutters to a stop and comes. The final jerk of his hand sends Tony over the edge as well and he blanks out, his shadowy vision white and then suddenly so black. 

Steve jerks a few more times and then collapses on top of Tony as he finishes. They both lie there, spent, overcome, and panting. Steve doesn’t forget Tony. He leans down and kisses him, again spending time to fill him with devotion and caring. As he slips out of Tony, they neck again. It’s sweet. 

“That was,” Steve starts but doesn’t finish.

“That was everything,” Tony says. He finds tears in his eyes. “It means everything to me, Steve. You mean everything to me.”

Steve wraps Tony in his embrace. It’s only been two months. How can he be in love in two months? Steve tenderly kisses him and Tony murmurs, “I think I’m falling in love.” It’s a bold move, but tonight is the night for bold moves.

“Good. Because I love you, too,” Steve whispers. The rest of the night is theirs, and theirs alone.


	14. Chapter 14

EPILOGUE: FIVE YEARS LATER

One of the things Steve loves the most about mornings is watching Tony wake up. Often he delays his morning run to be able to see it. Tony isn’t the kind of person who wakes up immediately and jumps out of bed ready to go. Maybe it’s because he spends so much of his time awake, foregoing sleep for the pursuit of the mind and the advancement of technology. The world would be a bitter cold place without Tony Stark to lead the way in so many different fields. Even now, there’s a summit at the United Nations about clean energy and the great difference Stark technology has brought to the field. They should be attending it – but they won’t – not today – they have more important things to do today.

Steve sits back, his pillows piled high against the headboard of their shared master bedroom high in the Stark Tower. The sun peeks through the blinds of their bedroom, sending a streak of rays across their bed. It doesn’t bother Tony at all. The light strikes his face, his chest. As Steve gazes at his husband, he sees the stages of Tony drifting closer to wakefulness. He shifts a little as if he’s seeking something, his hand reaches out and Steve moves his hand. Tony finds it, grasps it, quiets. It’s Tony’s left hand, the one that Steve placed a ring on not quite 3 years ago. They could have had a whirlwind romance, in fact they did, but then they spent so much time in each other’s pockets they didn’t think about marriage until Sam mentioned it. It had been a given to both of them that they would always be together, the legality was formality. Sam, Pepper, Rhodey, Bucky all bugged them until they finally tied the knot. 

Smiling, Steve notices the glint of Tony’s ring against his own. He’s glad they finally did it, though it had never been something he needed to know that Tony is his and he is Tony’s. It was an event and Steve had to deal with the craziness of the paparazzi. He’s still not as good as Tony is with it. Even blind, Tony can flash a smile and the room wilts in his stead. Steve always feels awkward with no idea what to do with his hands. He feels like a big ape most of the time, especially since he no longer plays the part of Tony’s Personal Assistant. Which reminds him, Clint will be here any minute, looking to help Tony get ready for his appointment. 

Tony grumbles next to him as if he heard Steve’s thoughts. He pats Steve’s hand and rolls onto his back. Yawning, he says, “You think too loud.”

“You snore.”

“Heaven forbid, I do not.” He smiles and that’s the best part of the day. Tony always smiles at Steve in the morning. Always. Even if they’ve fought the night before – he smiles at Steve. Once a while ago, Steve had asked why and Tony simply said that as a scientist he understood what the north magnetic pole was, but when he hears Steve’s voice in the morning, he knows what true north really is. “You’re still thinking too loud.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I’m nervous about today.”

Tony yawns again. He probably didn’t get enough sleep last night. He pushes himself up to sit and Steve leans over and fluffs his pillows. “What time is it?”

“It’s 7:15. We have to be at the clinic by 10 am.” Steve swallows down his fears. “Are you sure about this?”

“We’ve gone over all the data, Steve. You don’t have to worry. Hank really knows his stuff. Along with Wong, Bruce, and Strange, we got this.” He squeezes Steve’s hand and shakes it a little.

“Scott has his doubts.”

“Scott’s a chemical engineer 2 years out of prison. Let’s not base whether or not I’m going to get my sight back on his concerns,” Tony says. “Now come here and drink in my morning breath.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, but wraps Tony in his arms anyway, morning breath and all.

Clint isn’t amused later when he finds them au natural still lounging in their bedroom sometime later. He grimaces at Steve and shakes his head. “You two don’t pay me enough to have to put up with this, you know.”

“We pay you a ransom sum,” Tony states and rolls over onto Steve’s lap, his bare ass revealed by the drape of the sheet.

“Good lord,” Clint mumbles and goes to the walk-in closet to get Tony’s clothes for the day. 

Tony snickers and smiles up at Steve, who isn’t having any of his charm today. “You should be thankful for Clint. He’s a godsent.”

“Yeah,” Tony says and flops back again, adjusting the sheet so it does cover him. “He’s not as good as you.”

“I should hope not,” Steve says fondly.

“But oh so much better than the last one. What was his name again?” 

Steve huffs at Tony. “Thanos. You know full well what his name was.”

“God, he was a dick.” Tony sits up and slides to the side of the bed. “He was always snapping his fingers at me, talking like he had some destiny. He freaked me out.”

“And he had that chin,” Steve agrees. "Looked like grapes had a baby with a scrotum 

“Thank God I didn't have to see that.” Tony snickers as he scampers across the bedroom to the ensuite. 

Clint pops out of the closet as soon as the door to the bathroom closes. “He should have been out of bed an hour ago. You two need to get to the clinic before the media gets there. This is big news.”

Steve finds his boxers on the floor next to the bed, scoops them up, and manages to shimmy into them under the blanket. He gets out of bed. He hates that everything Tony does is under the microscope, more so than it used to be ever since the interview with Christine Everhart and her series. She’s been an ally but at the same time Tony’s biggest critic. 

“Big news,” Steve hisses. “Big news because people are protesting my husband getting a medical procedure that could help him regain his sight.”

Clint taps his one ear as he hangs up the clothes on the closet door. “Listen, you don’t have to justify anything to me. Without the cochlear implants I’d be totally deaf. I get it, you don’t have to sell me on it at all.” 

“It sounds ableist though,” Steve replies and goes to the closet looking for his own clothes for the day. It’s going to be a long week. He has a bag packed as well. 

“It could be read that way, but I read it that he gets to decide what his life is. As long as it’s him making the decision for him and not for you- and that you aren’t making the decision for him, I think you’re in the clear.”

“God, that’s complicated. And confusing.” Steve pulls out a nice pair of slacks, a polo shirt and clean boxers. He exits the closet with his clothes for the day and his packed bag. “Strange said I can stay at the clinic with Tony. You won’t need to stay. It’ll be about a week or so. You can have the time off.”

Clint shakes his head. “No can do. I will be there for you. That’s the deal.” He grins at Steve.

“Thanks, Clint.” Steve slaps him on the back. 

Hiring Clint was one of the best things they did once they’d decided that Steve had too much on his plate – what with him helping Tony out in the lab, working on his bestselling comic book under Asgardian Comics, plus his continued focus on his fine arts portfolio. Luckily, Sam and Bucky directed Clint to them from the Rehab center they ran in D.C.. Clint had been looking to relocate to New York City. It worked out for the best. 

At that point, Tony waltzes out of the bathroom still naked as the day he was born, and Clint only rolls his eyes. “I can hear you rolling your eyes, Clint.”

He laughs and directs Tony to his clothes. 

Steve doesn’t loiter. He doesn’t have time, Clint’s right. The media circus is going to be a nightmare. They could have opted to not announce to the media that they were starting the clinical trials on the Pym nanotech, but Tony insisted. It was groundbreaking what they were trying to do. It could change the face of medical science. If they succeed, then Tony would not only get his sight back, but the world would have a potent new way to heal damaged brain tissue and nerves. It means a world of difference for people with spinal cord injuries, Parkinson’s disease, ALS, and more. This advancement isn’t just for Tony’s particular case but be relevant to a number of other neurological diseases. 

Yet, they have their detractors. Multiple groups protest the clinical trial from those who say it’s making people into cyborgs (Steve can’t believe how naïve and uneducated people can be) to those who call Tony an ableist because he won’t accept his blindness. The latter one is the hardest of all for Tony to handle. He knows he dealt with his blindness in a way others would call shunning the community, pretending he wasn’t blind. All of which he admits to now. But 15 years after the accident, Tony has a right to say he wants his sight back and be truthful about it. What Steve’s learned over the years as a sighted person living with a blind person is that it isn’t his place to decide what is best for Tony – the only person who can decide that is Tony. 

Steve finishes up his shower, shaves, and then dresses before he leaves the bathroom. He finds Tony dressed and ready to go. Clint has left the room with Steve’s bag. Tony sits on the bed; he’s facing the window – the blinds are open to a city he cannot see.

“Are you okay, Tony?”

It takes a moment before he answers. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m ready to get this done.”

“It’ll be hard not to talk to you for a week,” Steve says. 

Once they inject the Pym particles into Tony’s eye they have to keep him sedated for a week so that the particles can grow through his optical nerve at the back of his eye to rebuild the broken bridge to his brain. It may cause some spikes of pressure in his eye and they have to monitor it. It could also cause a brain hemorrhage and stroke. Steve terrified of that possible side effect. The best thing they can do is keep him in an induced coma to keep his brain stable and functioning. 

“You can talk to me,” Tony says and reaches out his hand. Steve steps up to clasps it. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve falls to his knees in front of Tony and lays his head on his lap. “I’m going to miss you too, sweetheart.”

“You called me that the first time we made love,” Tony whispers and bends his body over Steve. “I’ll be okay. I promise. Hank, Bruce, Wong, Strange, and I – we went over all of the data. This is going to work.”

“Can I say I don’t care if it works or not. I just want you to be okay? I want you back. I miss you already.” 

Tony kisses his temple and promises. He promises things he has no control over but to Steve it means the world to him. After they unwrap themselves, they move forward through the day at a dizzying speed. When they arrive at the clinic, a crowd gathers outside its doors. Some have signs protesting Tony’s procedure others have signs supporting him. Multiple vans with dishes on their roofs line the avenue. It’s a festival of the media. Steve sighs and Tony only pats his knee. 

Exiting the car, Steve clenches Tony’s hand as Clint ushers them toward the steps of the clinic. Christine Everhart manages to get to the front of the pack. Her cameraman follows her with swift precision. 

“Tony Stark! Tony! Can you tell the world why you want to do this? Is this just another phase of you not accepting being blind?”

Steve nearly punches her, but Tony puts up his hands and smiles for the camera. He’s so attuned to the landscape around him he gets it right where he should be facing without the slightest direction from Steve. 

“Christine. Always a pleasure.” He smiles that disarming smile; the press is always fooled by it. Steve never is; its plastic, pasted on. “It’s not about accepting being blind or not. It’s about accepting who I am. And do you know who I am, dear Christine? Right here, before you, I’m standing here the man who gave the world the arc reactor for clean energy. We launch our new smart street technology next week. And talking about launching, with the arc reactor we’re working with NASA to leapfrog the new space program milestones ahead of where it is now. On top of that, the Pym and Stark collaboration will change the face of medicine as we know it. So, Christine, it is about who I am. I am Tony Stark.” He raises his hand and the crowd around her cheers. 

She glares at Steve and he tries to suppress his smile but can’t. Tony’s done everything he promised her. The work with Pym holds promise not only for visually impaired people, but also hearing impaired like her brother. The nanotechnology could even solve the issue of paralysis. She’s only using her forum as a means to keep the crowd revved up and attuned to her. He knows it and so does she. He quirks a brow at her and then with a hand to Tony’s back turns to enter the clinic.

Inside the atmosphere is less like a circus and more like a church. Quiet, solemn. It scares Steve but he holds back his reaction as they are guided to the surgical area. Everything after that is a blur. There’s the consent forms and the anesthesiologist discussing the procedure with them as Tony sits on the gurney dressed in scrubs. Steve absently wonders where his clothes were tucked away. 

Strange enters the surgical suite and once again goes over the procedure. It won’t be anything more than what they do when they replace the lens during cataract surgery, though they will have to inject into the vitreous humor in the back of the eye. The pre-programmed Pym nanotech particles will be injected and then they will migrate to the optic nerve at the back of the eye. Once they invade the nerve, they will start to accumulate and then build a bridge from the eye to the brain’s optic center near the back of the skull. It’s estimated it will take 7 days for the nanotech particles to do their job. 

Strange leaves them for a few minutes as the surgical staff gathers to prepare. Steve turns to Tony. “Are you ready?”

Tony looks small in the bed. His hands are useless in his lap. There’s a thin blanket on him and his feet make little hills in the fabric. He flexes his hands several times. “I think.” He bows his head.

Steve stands and lifts Tony’s chin. Tears well in his eyes. “Am I doing the right thing, Steve?”

“You don’t have to do this, Tony. You only have to do what you want to do.”

“I’m frightened.”

Steve pulls him in close. “I know.”

The nurse comes for Tony. It takes a moment for Tony to find his composure, but he nods and exhales. “I’m ready.”

Steve kisses him. “For luck. See you on the other side.”

“Not if I see you first,” Tony says in a small voice. 

The nurse and an orderly wheel the gurney out of the room. Steve stands there, alone, lost. His finger finds his wedding ring and his heart pounds in his ears. He doesn’t know how he gets to the room they’ve assigned to him, but somehow he’s there with Clint. The surgery is over in less than an hour. Steve spends the rest of the day at Tony’s side, reading as his husband slumbers. 

Over the course of the week, their support network shows up. Natasha appears with Pepper. Rhodey takes turns sitting with Steve. Sam and Bucky stay the week in a hotel close to the clinic and often take Steve out to a diner just to get away. Jarvis and Happy are there in intervals. Bruce and Hank go over the data and are pleasantly optimistic. Even Thor shows up to support Steve. It’s nice. It’s perfect. But it’s terribly painful at the same time.

Every night, when they all leave, Steve sneaks back into Tony’s room. He nods to the nurse and sits down. He holds Tony’s hand, rubs his thumb along the palm and talks to Tony. He tells him about how poor he was before he took the job as his personal assistant. He elaborates on his next big comic book idea – about a skinny weasel of a guy with a heart of gold who gets vitarays and a super secret serum to make him strong and big and he fights in WWII. 

He stays until dawn somedays. He watches as the sun bleeds in through the curtains of the arched window in Tony’s private room. And then it is the day, the moment of truth. They slowly bring him out of the induced coma. The doctors are standing around like it’s a freak show and Steve wants them gone. He wants to sit with Tony and watch him wake, like he always does. He wants to be that security that Tony needs when he opens his eyes and needs to orient. But he doesn’t have the luxury. 

Today there’s an audience. 

But it doesn’t matter. Steve talks and Tony shifts, slowly waking, and moves to turns his head towards him – like he always does as he rouses from sleeping. 

“It might be nice, after all of this, if we go back to the island. We haven’t been there for a long time. I’d like to go back. I wonder what Vision and Wanda are up to!” Steve is letting his mind wander, talking about whatever pops into his head. “I’d love to lie in the dewy grass again and listen to the ocean with you, Tony. Maybe that’s where we’ll go.”

Tony reaches out, his hand stretching. He’s waking and the doctors are on alert. Steve scowls at them and they give him space. He touches Tony’s hand. “I’m here, sweetheart. Open your eyes.” He tells himself Tony’s all right. There’s no sign of any brain damage. All the scans are clear. “Tony?”

Tony mumbles something and then opens his eyes. Steve’s heart beats in a rush like the waves crashing against the shore. There’s din there, he can hardly hear. He lifts Tony’s hand to his lips and kisses his fingers. “Tony?”

Tony squeezes his hand, closes his eyes once, and then opens them. There are tears on his cheeks, a baptismal blessing. Steve traces the lines of tears with his finger and then cups Tony’s cheek, looking to the eyes of his love. Tony always orients himself to Steve’s voice. Always. Steve whispers his name with an awed reverence.

And Tony? 

Tony smiles.

THE END.


End file.
